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shotmrmiller · 2 months

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Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?"

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside.

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here.

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #cod smut

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sweetrainbowcandy · 1 month

Text

part 2 to my logan x chubby!reader fic which you can find here <3

a/n: I'm sorry this took so long! i've been really busy recently getting ready to move into uni, so my minds been on other things :( this was super fun to write, tho!

tags: 18+, MDNI, smut, chubby!reader, worst wolverine!logan, wade and logan are neighbors with reader, age gap, some angst (maybe?), logan gets jealous, daddy kink, logan makes you squirt

wc: ~4k

“So, Peanut, you gonna tell me about your rendezvous with little-miss-gumdrop across the hall?”

Logan pauses, setting down the weight he was curling and slowly turning to look at Wade. It had been a day since Logan went over to help fix your sink, and unfortunately his self proclaimed ‘wingman’ had been giving him an overly knowing look ever since.

“Nothin’ to tell,” he turns back around, his bicep flexing as he curls the weight, “Fixed her sink ‘n left.”

“Thats it?” Wade asked, taken aback, “You didn’t even hit her with the ol, ‘How bout you let me get up in your pipes next, bub?’” Wade’s voice drops to a deep rumble as he imitates Logan, and he drops the weight with a thud,

“Do you ever shut your damn trap?” Logan snaps, whipping around and shoving a finger at Wade’s chest. Wade gasps in mock offense, daintily slapping away Logan’s hand and placing the back of his hand over his forehead,

“I knew it, you are seeing her!” He says, forcing out a choked sob, “And I thought what we had was special, honey badger!” Logan rolls his eyes, walking over to the door and slipping on his jacket, boots brushing against the doormat.

“I’m going for a smoke,” he growls, grabbing a cigar out of the container on the stand next to the door, feeling around for the zippo in his pocket.

“Oh yeah, storm out the second you know you’re in the wrong!” Wade calls, holding up Mary Puppins and hugging her to his chest, “At least remember to pay child support!” Wade manages to shove in before the door shuts behind Logan. He ran a hand down his face and shook his head. Wade was insufferable, but he was a good guy. Sometimes.

“Oh, Logan!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, blinking as he turned to face you. You were just stepping out of your apartment, hair and makeup done immaculately, adorned in a skimpy silk dress that showed off each delectably pudgy curve. You smiled up at him shyly, fidgeting with the strap of your purse slung over your shoulder.

Fuck.

Logan gulped, his fists clenching in the pockets of his leather jacket, “Hey,” he greets with a nod, quickly looking you up and down before clearing his throat and nodding to your outfit, “You, uh,” he pauses, his mouth feeling dry, “You goin’ out?”

You giggled softly, nodding and reaching down to tug at the scandalously short hem of your dress. Shit, what Logan wouldn’t give to tear through it with his claws, leave it in shreds on the floor and take you right here in the hall for everyone to hear—

“Yeah! I’ve, uhm, just got a little date to go to,” you said, struggling to keep eye contact with the large, intimidating man.

A what?

Logan felt hot anger flare up inside of him, his jaw clenching as his brow furrowed, “A date?” He growls, his voice sounding more predatory then he intended. Your eyelashes fluttered against your chubby cheeks in confusion, a bit surprised by his reaction.

“Y-Yeah, a date,” you stammer, shrinking a bit in on yourself. You couldn’t read his expression beyond the frustration, and a small part of you wondered if he was… jealous. But that wouldn’t make sense, right? You barely knew each other!

But Logan was irrationally upset, and he wasn’t known for his self soothing. What the fuck did some chump have that he couldn’t give you? He bet it was some geeky dude who weighed less than one-fifty with twig arms and a pimple-scarred face. Some fucking dweeb who didn’t know how to handle a woman like you.

But Logan didn’t have any claim over you. Just because he fixed your sink didn’t give him the right to be possessive. He was just acting like an animal again.

“…That’s… nice,” Logan grunts, turning towards the stairs, shooting you another look over his shoulder and nodding, “Good luck. Make sure he treats you right,” he says, before retreating down the stairs. He was oblivious to the way that you watched him leave, the way you gulped and looked down at your feet as you considered following him. But you didn’t. You took a deep breath and turned to head down the opposite stairwell. You had a date to meet.

It was later when the door to Logan and Wade’s apartment slammed shut, Logan’s leather jacket meeting the floor as he stormed into the kitchen.

“Woah there, Koolaid Man! Come through the fucking wall next time, why don’t you?” Wade calls from the living room, his words muffled by the sandwich he was macking on.

“Shut your fucking trap,” Logan snaps, rifling through the fridge before pulling out a beer, unsheathing his claws and using one to pop off the cap. Wade raises his free hand in self defense,

“Jesus Christ, did your cigar finally bite back? What the hell crawled up your tight bubble butt and died? Because I’ll tell you, whatever it was, I’m jealous,” Wade says, pointing to Logan before taking another bite of his sandwich.

Logan tilted back the beer, his throat bobbing with each gulp. He heard Wade whistle as he watched him down the whole bottle before throwing it to the ground and reaching to grab another, not even bothering with the shattered glass. His jaw clenched as he struggled to open the next bottle, before he let out a snarl and hit the cap off of the edge of the counter, causing it to fly off. His hand shook as he threw back the next beer.

Wade watched with a raised eyebrow, lowering the sandwich to where Mary Puppins was sitting next to him on the floor, her little nose twitching as she sniffed at it before awkwardly shoving it in her mouth, “…Did you run into gumdrop?” Wade asks, taking a shot in the dark why his roommate would be so pissed.

Logan braced his hands against the counter, shoulder’s rising and falling with each ragged breath. Before he knew what he was doing, he lowered his head and nodded, “Yeah,” he says, swallowing before speaking up again, his voice a deep rumble that barely reached Wade’s ears, “She said she had a date.”

Wade’s nonexistent eyebrows raised, and for once, he was quiet for a second. He thought about Vanessa, how he’d felt when she said she started seeing a guy from work. Sure, him and Vanessa had known each other for much longer than Logan had known you, but Wade knew how strongly Logan felt emotions.

Wade snaps his fingers and lets out an ‘ah-hah!’, moving to stand up and walk into the kitchen, “I’ve got it— you find the guy, challenge him to a gladiator-style naked mud wrestling match, invite her to watch, spear him from his tip to his gooch, then rip out his testicles and feed them to her like grapes. See the way you won her over? Very mindful, very demure.”

Logan’s brow just furrows, and he shoots Wade a frustrated and confused look, “Jesus Christ, you little shit, could you not run your mouth for one second?” He says through clenched teeth, turning to throw back more of his drink as Wade just shrugs,

“Okay, honey-b, I’m just trying to help,” he says, turning to walk back to the living room, “But if you wanna be the pussy who’s standing here drinking his frustrations away instead of confessing to the girl he’s obviously interested before she’s taken away, be my guest,” Wade says as he gestures dismissively at him.

Logan paused, moving to place his beer back on the counter with a click. As much as he hated to admit it, Wade had a point. What kind of pathetic loser just sat and drank his jealousy and sadness away instead of proving himself to her that he was better?

Wade flinched as he heard the sound of another bottle breaking against the floor, sitting up and watching as Logan stormed towards the door, “Fuck, another one? You’re cleaning this up when you get back, young man!” Wade calls as Logan tugs on his jacket before opening the door, slamming it behind him. Wade sighs, leaning back into the couch, “Go get ‘em, peanut.”

Logan’s at your door in a second. His large fist slamming against the heavy wood a good four—five times before he steps back, silently cursing that he didn’t check his appearance before he stepped out of the apartment.

Shit, what was he doing? You were too young and sweet for him, too much of a little angel to want anything to do with some old jaded fuck like him. He should just turn around, go back and have Wade rub it in his face how—

“Logan?”

And there it was again, you catching him off-guard by calling his name. You stood there, dressed in just a nightgown with your hair down around your shoulders, and fuck, you smelt good. It must be that same vanilla body butter he smelt when he was last this close to you. It was only now Logan realized how fucking late it was.

“Sorry, I—“ he began, cutting himself off and gulping, “…I can come back later if it’s too late,” he says, his voice deep and uncharacteristically soft. To his surprise, you smile, shaking your head and gesturing inside after stepping back.

“Not at all,” you say as you shut the door behind him. The lights in your apartment are dim, and Logan tries not to think about how fucking intimate it is, how too big and lumbering he feels in your space. “So what’s up?”

Logan blinks, snapping himself out of his thoughts as he realizes he didn’t just come into your apartment to awkwardly stand around. Shit, he didn’t prepare for this part.

“…How’s your sink?”

You’re both quiet before you let out a snort, round cheeks tinting as you giggle, placing a hand over your mouth. Logan feels a rare but hot flush of selfconsciousness spread down his neck, looking off to the side and nervously shifting his weight between his feet,

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer between giggles, shaking your head and sighing, “I just— you looked so serious, I thought something was wrong,” you say as you pad over to your fridge, pulling it open and taking out a water bottle, “Drink?”

“…’M alright,” Logan watches as you nod, uncapping it and tilting it back to take a sip. He watches how your throat bobs with each gulp, his cock twitching in his jeans. Shit, he wasn’t ready for this. But he didn’t have a choice— he had to.

You place the bottle down on the sink, smiling as you recap it, “It’s working just fine thanks to you,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Logan nods, feigning a leisurely look around to try and come off as more casual.

“How was your date?” Logan asks after a second, and you pause, your smile faltering. Logan feels himself begin to panic— shit, was he crossing a line? His lips part, no words coming out for a minute before he chokes out, “If you don’t wanna talk about it-“

“No, no,” you cut him off gently, forcing a small smile as you cross your soft arms under your chest, almost hugging yourself. You just shook your head, sighing before speaking, “He just… we didn’t really get along.”

Logan felt bad for the fireworks that went off inside of him, quickly shoving down the celebratory thoughts and clearing his throat, nodding apologetically, “‘M sorry to hear that,” he says, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.

You shake your head, forcing a soft laugh, “It’s alright, can’t expect every guy to have what I’m looking for, you know?” You say, which catches Logan’s attention. You watch the muscles in his jaw shift,

“…And what are you looking for?” He asks, taking a step forward, and you feel the energy between you shift. Your breath catches, and your hand comes up to rest against your chest,

“Uhm,” you stammer out softly, biting your bottom lip. Fuck, it drives Logan insane. Wanting to replace your teeth with his, tug that lip between his teeth while he envelopes your mouth with his, “Someone… reliable,” you begin, watching as he steps closer to you. Your breath catches, but you force yourself to keep talking even as your voice began to wobble, “strong…” you blink up at him, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks, “…older.”

Logan sucks in a sharp breath, the both of you practically standing toe-to-toe now. You have to crane your neck to look up at him, his hand raising to gently cradle your face. You shakily exhale as his thumb runs over your bottom lip, and you can’t stop yourself as your tongue pokes out to coax the finger into your mouth.

“Fuck,” Logan growls, letting you suck on his thumb before he presses and slides it against your tongue, “You need someone to take care of you, ain’t that right, doll?” You whimper around his thumb, and he softly clicks his tongue, “You gotta ask me properly, bub.”

You pull your lips off his thumb with a soft ‘pop’, slightly panting as your glazed over eyes lock with his fiercer ones, “Please take care of me, Logan,” you plead, your voice a breathy whine. Logan’s gaze darkens,

“I will, pretty girl,” his knuckles caress the side of your face, his other hand moving to splay out on your lower back, “Let me give you what these little boys can’t.”

He leans in, and before you know it, his rough lips are on yours. He immediately groans at the feeling of just how soft your lips are, evidently just like the rest of you. His hand moves from your face to tangle in the hair at the base of your scalp, tugging slightly and causing you to whimper. The sound just makes his cock twitch, his inhibitions already escaping him.

He curses against your lips, pushing you back against the counter, tongue probing into your mouth and dancing with your own. The wet, slick noises of your mouths moving against each other echo in the kitchen of your apartment, complimented by his feral growls and your whimpers. He pulls back, his lip pulled back slightly in a snarl,

“I’m gonna treat you right, doll,” he says as his hands trail down to grope at your fat ass over your nightgown, causing you to gasp and whine softly, arching back into his touch,

“Logan,” you whimper needily, looking back up at him and squirming in his hold. He curses, reaching down to pick you up, your eyes widening, “Wait, Logan, I’m too—!“ you cut yourself off with a gasp as he effortlessly lifts you, walking over to the couch in your living room and laying you down on it.

“Shut up,” he growls as he leans back down to connect your lips again, his big, rough hands sliding down your body as your back lifts off the cushions below you. He pulls back, shifting to lean his weight onto one arm as the other goes lower until he’s hiking up the skirt of your nightgown, causing you to gasp.

“Can fuckin’ smell you,” he says against your ear, his tongue poking out to lick his lips, “Cunt’s all nice and wet for me, huh?” You nod eagerly, spreading your chubby thighs and hearing Logan groan at the sight of the wet spot spreading on your lacy panties. He sits back on his haunches, reaching down to grab the crotch of your panties and tearing them, the fabric ripping like tissue paper under his grip. You gasp, watching him discard them off the side of the couch.

“Perfect fuckin’ pussy,” his hands lower, gaze hungry and dark as his thumbs part your lips. Your stuttered breaths cause your tits to jiggle, and Logan pulls his hands away from your cunt to grab the neckline of your nightgown. He tugs it down, tucking it under your tits which spill out into the cool air of your apartment.

You yelp and whimper as he slaps and gropes one, his other hand returning to your cunt. He looks down and groans as his thumb finds the hood of your clit, pulling it back over the little nub and smirking, “There she is,” he whispers, “Don’t even need to spit or anything, huh? Pussy’s already so fuckin’ messy,” he says as he begins to roll his thumb in tight circles over your clit.

You let out a cry as your hips buck into his hand, his bigger one shooting down from your breast to pin down your chubby stomach and keep you from moving, “Take it,” he snarls, and you can do nothing but kick your trembling legs and whimper as you claw at his arm, tears welling in your eyes. He shifts his weight, sliding his fingers down before slipping two of them inside of you.

He covers your mouth with his as you squeal, swallowing your cries and moans as he begins to jerk his thick, rough, long fingers up and down against the anterior walls of your pussy, hammering right up against that sensitive, spongy spot inside you. Your vision begins to go hazy, drool spilling out from between your lips and down your chin as you whimper. Your thighs quiver and he pulls back, lips pressed right up against your ear,

“Come on, bub, know you wanna cum real nice all over my fuckin’ hand,” he whispers, nipping your earlobe and secretly praying that your neighbors can hear the wavering cries escaping from your glistening lips as he pummels your pussy with his fingers. You sob, choking out his name, and before you know it you’re squirting and spraying all over his hand. He groans, “That’s it, just like that,” he coaxes, fingering you through it until you’re laid back and gasping for air like it’s a commodity.

He sits up, lifting your plump legs over his hips as he reaches to slide your nightgown up and off your body, dropping it carelessly next to your torn panties on the floor. He finds his hands softly running down your plump body, admiring that glazed over and drunken look in your eyes. He leans down, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss against your cheek,

“This alright?” He asks, and you can feel the bass of his voice against your chest as yours and his pressed together. Your cheeks warm up at the sentiment, that he still cared to check in despite the heat of the moment. You nod, reaching up to softly run your fingers through his hair,

“Yeah,” you whisper, not realizing just how whiny and high-pitched your voice had gotten, “Please,” your hands trail down from his hair to gently claw down his back, legs locking behind his hips. He grunts, hovering over you and reaching down to unbuckle his belt, sliding it off and barely registering it clattering against the floor.

“Say it again, baby,” he growls as he shucks off his jacket and tank top, his chest glistening with sweat. You watched as he reached to unbutton and tug down his jeans, reaching down and fishing his cock out of his boxers. You gasp at the sheer size and thickness of it, not to mention his heavy, fat balls that hung below it. He must have been pent up.

“Please,” you repeat, this time more desperately. Your hand reaches down shakily for his cock, breath speeding up as he doesn’t move to stop you. Your soft fingers wrap around him and he groans, bucking into your touch, “Shit,” you curse, “your cock is so fucking big.”

“Yeah?” He asks, and you can hear the subtle cocky smirk in his voice, “Bigger than whatever asshole you went on a date with, I bet.” And there it was, the admission of jealousy.

But you can only nod eagerly, fingers tracing the veins running along his length, “Yes,” you whimper as you angle his cock down towards your pussy, shivering and biting your lip as he takes himself in his own hand and slides the tip through your puffy, fat pussy lips, “Please, daddy?”

Holy shit.

Logan didn’t even know what came over him. One second he was grinding his cock through your slit, then you called him that, and now he was thrusting balls deep into your cunt. You practically screamed, crying out and clawing at his arms as his split you open, legs quivering around his hips as he thrust into you like a man possessed.

“Say it again,” Logan demanded, his voice hot against your ear as he reached down, grabbing you by the rolls of your stomach for leverage as he pounded your cunt, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

“Daddy!” You cried out again, moaning through your sobs as hot tears streamed down your pudgy cheeks. You mewled as Logan leaned down to lick them up, his lips reconnecting with yours as the sound of your kissing and the couch thumping against the floor echoed around the both of you.

His forehead pressed against yours, the two of you looking into each others eyes as you struggled to keep yours on him, “Keep those eyes on daddy, baby,” he grunts, reaching around to lift your hips and fuck you back into his thrusts, causing you to fight the urge to throw your head back in pleasure.

“I-It’s too much, daddy!” You whimpered through your cries, sniffling and hiccuping as your body jerked up and down the couch. Logan shifted so he was sitting back against it, maneuvering you onto his lap and reaching down under your thighs so he was holding you before beginning to buck up into you. You squealed, hitting at his chest with your fists softly as you sobbed, the pounding too much for you to handle. His hand flew down once again to find your clit, thumb flicking roughly over it.

“You can take it, bub,” He reassures, watching as your face warps as your orgasm begins to wash over you. You begin to babble nonsense, and he wraps his arms around you and holds you close to his chest as he increases his speed, feeling your cunt flutter around his cock. It’s not long before you’re cumming all over his lap, crying out his name as you claw down his shoulders. He follows not far behind you, leaning in to bite down hard on your shoulder before releasing inside of you.

He pulls back, the both of you panting as you try to catch your breaths. You let out a tired giggle, resting your forehead against his shoulder, his hands running slowly up and down your back,

“And to think I was gonna break my sink again to get you to come over,” You slur tiredly against him, causing him to freeze. You broke your sink the first time on purpose? He sighs, shaking his head and holding back a soft chuckle,

“Brat.”

#Logan howlett #Logan howlett x reader #Logan howlett x reader smut #Wolverine #Wolverine x reader #Wolverine x reader smut #Logan howlett x you #Wolverine x you #smut #x-men #Hugh jackman #sweetrainbowcandy #deadpool and wolverine

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luveline · 1 year

Text

𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when an unknown intruder breaks into your apartment, you call hotch. he races to make it to you in time. requested here. fem!reader, 3.7k

cw home invasion, assault, attempted sexual assault, reader is badly hurt/held at gunpoint, please read with care for the content warnings above

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Hotch?" you whisper into the phone, your voice barely audible.

"Who is this?"

Hotch doesn't always look at who's calling at night, he just answers. Bad habit. You curl in on yourself where you're on your knees in the closet, trying not to wheeze breathlessly down the receiver. "Hotch, it's me. I need you to come and help me."

"What's wrong?" He doesn't ask why you're whispering. "Are you at home?"

"There's someone in my apartment."

"You're sure?"

You shift backwards into the embrace of your hanging coats and dresses. It feels as though tens of hands are petting your shoulders, a shiver racing along your spine as a floorboard creaks somewhere in your kitchen.

"I heard them open my door. I don't have my taser, I…" You stop talking when you hear more movement, terrified you'll be discovered. Regret clings to you. How many times has Morgan offered to teach you self defence personally? "I don't know how they got inside."

It doesn't take more than that for Hotch to click into work mode. "Stay on the phone with me. Don't talk. I'm going to put you on hold to call Morgan. I will be ten seconds at most. Don't panic. Don't hang up. If you think you can leave without being seen or heard, leave, but if you can't, don't show him where you are."

The invader's footsteps track to the bedroom. You know at once that your tired mind isn't hallucinating a bad scenario to keep you up —this is real.

You had the hindsight to close your laptop and push it under the bed along with your go-bag, a rucksack full of clothes that you take on cases in different states as part of the BAU. You'd made a quick assessment —your job more than prepared you for this— based on the little information you had. Either the invader knows nothing about you and has assumed you'd be home, or they watch you enough to think you'd be elsewhere. If they think you're here, you're in danger of being assaulted, kidnapped, or murdered. If they think you're away, you're in danger of being robbed. One scenario is a thousand times more preferable than the other.

You can't help but think of the horrible things you've seen. You know intimately what kind of damage one person can do to someone at their mercy.

The hold sound is a quiet droning that freaks you out. If you can hear it, the intruder might be able to, too. Like the low hum of the fridge at night or the bumping of the dyer.

You hang up the phone.

"I know you're here."

Your pulse flies through the roof. It pounds so hard you can feel it everywhere, the tip of your nose, your eyelashes. You look through the dark of your closet and panic in the fullest definition of the word. Your heart can't sustain this for long.

You failed to think of a third possibility. The intruder watches you enough to know you're home. The BAU has a lot of enemies. Anyone could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.

"Come out and I'll be kind," the intruder sing-songs.

You type out a text with shaking hands, your message nearly illegible.

They knowa 8m hjome. Cant talkk dontcall me

Thirty seconds elapse. A reply comes through. You smother the chirp with your chest. It sounds loud as a shot in the relative quiet.

Police dispatch 5mins. I'm 10mins. Morgan 12. I will be there as soon as I can. Protect yourself

That's easy for him to say. You drop your phone in defeat but scramble to pick it up again when you realise it's your best weapon. Or… You crawl to the opposite end of the closet to your shoe rack and slide the shoes apart with honey slow movements, your breath coming in quick, too-loud pants. You never expected to feel this way, you thought you'd know exactly what to do, how to react, but this feels outside of reality.

You brace the long heel of a shoe between your fingers. Your hand is a vice.

In your bedroom, the intruder goads you. "I know you're home, Y/N. There's only so many places for me to look, you know? But if you make me check each one, I'll be unhappy when I find you."

What the fuck? you think. Breaking apart the fear like a knife is anger, a new shot of adrenaline. Who is this guy? You want to spring from the closet and show him how unhappy you are, but your chances of survival improve the longer you can hide. If he has a gun, that's it. You could be dead in the next two minutes. No amount of anger would save you.

You could be dead in the next two minutes.

thank you dpr everything, for being my friend aaron, you text. You know how embarrassing it will be to have said goodbye if nothing bad happens to you, but you also know how haunted Hotch will be if he can't get to you in time. You aren't foolish enough to unravel your feelings for him over text, but you're sentimental enough to think they'd matter to him. He'd want to know.

If things go bad please knoeew that I loved my life and my work and you and the tram more than anything

After a moment, you add, If things don't go bad please nevrr mentiom this

Footsteps at the closet door. A pause that feels gargantuan, the silence so heavy it threatens to snap the floorboards beneath your knees.

"Found you."

You leap up and throw yourself at the closet door as hard as you can, gasping when it swings on the hinges and clips your opposition in the leg. You don't think, you don't look at his face, you simply drive the point of your shoe into his collar.

He gasps. Something hard and rigid whips upward, your neck snapping to one side as the skin of your cheek splits, gunmetal glancing off of bone. You drop down onto your ass, half out of necessity and half to get away from the pain. You can't outrun it, nor can you escape the forthcoming assault, grunting in shock as the bottom of the gun comes down atop your head. It was likely meant to incapacitate you, but all it does is hurt.

You flip onto your front, stagger onto your hands and knees, and launch yourself up through the bedroom doorway. You only have to get away.

He sweeps your legs from under you barely ten feet down the hall.

You fall. Your knees hit the hallway slats and your face follows, the nerve endings in your teeth ringing one by one and your eyes tearing up as your nose makes a huge thwacking sound. Gasping, you rush to cover your face though the damage is done. Your gasp turns to a sob, hands quickly wetted by blood.

"Stupid bitch," he hisses.

You crawl into the kitchen. He steps on the back of your thigh.

"I have a G43 pointed straight at the back of your fucking head."

"Good for you?" you say, eyes squeezed closed.

You whimper as he grinds his foot into your leg.

"Don't think I won't use it when I'm done with you."

You shake your head from side to side. That can't be what he's here for.

You should ask him what he wants, or threaten him with the approaching police sirens. You should've tried to climb out of your fire escape. You should've set the door alarm as soon as you came home, but you're just so fucking tired lately you must've forgot. Everything feels like a chore. Right now, you're exhausted.

"What are you going to do?" he asks you.

You won't negotiate. You don't answer.

Forceful, no time to protect yourself, he kicks you in the side of the face. It hurts worse than the fall, that shattering pain like a firework under your skin. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, hoping that your whining cry is less audible to him than it is to you, scrambling backward toward the cabinets. You're defeated. Maybe you deserve it, for it to happen so easily. Three minutes and you're down.

"I asked you what are you going to do, Agent?"

"What am I supposed to say?" you ask. Even to your own ears, you sound pathetic.

"Whatever I want you to. Now get up, honey." You cringe. "Unless you want to stay on the floor like a dog?"

"Don't call me that," you say, wincing at the grinding sensation of your jaw.

"What, a dog? Or… honey?" His tone is smug. "I thought you'd like that. It's what your boss calls you, isn't it? Late at night when he drops you off. Not strictly professional."

You groan and turn onto your side. The police sirens are getting close. You live in a busy place near a main road, the sirens could be for anybody, but you need them to be for you.

"Get up, honey. You can pretend I'm him, if you like. I'll make it easy on you. I can be nice."

You deliberate. Do as he says, or risk further agitation. Do what he says. Live to see the end of the night.

Or drag it out. Give Hotch enough time to get here.

"You'll pretend to be him?" you ask, sniffing. You can't tell if you're crying or there's blood on your face.

"Aw. To begin with, sure."

You sit up. For the first time, you look your attacker in the face. It's difficult to tear your eyes from the barrel, but you do. He has a cruel face, as tall and formidable as Hotch is but with none of his lightness. You put on your softest expression, gazing at him through tears. When you speak, the fear is real, even if you're attempting a facade. "You'll be gentle?"

"No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?" His lip curls in disgust.

"I don't know," you mumble, looking down at the floor. "You said you'd be nice."

"We both know you don't like nice."

"I do," you say, finding your footing in the charade, the sorry victim, whatever he needs you to be for now. You hate giving him anything, but you know in the moment that you'll do what you need to do to save yourself from injury. "I haven't… I haven't done stuff in a long time, I can't just rush into things."

The gun makes a quiet clicking sound as he points it with more fervour. "Like I believe that. You're probably fucking Hotchner on the side."

There, that jealousy. He's been watching you, he knows where you live, what you want, and he's still convinced that you're fucking Hotch. It's not logical.

You cling to the threads, trying to pull apart his composure. You'd assumed him an anger-excitation rapist, unafraid to hurt you as he already has, but now you're thinking something else.

"You think I'm sleeping with my boss? Why?"

"Besides your constant need to be touching him? It's disgusting, you throw yourself at someone who doesn't want you. You're pathetic. I can make you better."

You see movement in the corner of your vision. Dark hair, a stony expression. Hotch stands at the precipice of the kitchen in a bulletproof vest, a finger to his lips. Sh.

Your relief knocks a breath out of you. The invader takes it for pain at being read.

"Look," he says, softer. Not genuine softness, but practised. As soon as you give in, he'll drop it. You're both acting for one another, but only one of you is a profiler. "You'll forget all about Agent Hotchner once we're done. So just get up."

You hold out your hand. His eyes light up with malice as he leans down to take it, his gun finally aimed away from your face.

Hotch moves in.

"Drop the weapon."

Your attacker whirls. Hotch doesn't hesitate. Front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through. A bang like a clap of thunder fills the room.

You flinch down into yourself. Everything goes a little white for a while, people running into the room, a gun skittling across your kitchen tile. Your ears ring from the bang of two bullets and you're sure you've been hit, you're hurting so much, but hands squeeze under your arms to tell you otherwise.

"You're okay," Hotch says, knee against your thigh, face ducked down to meet your eyes. "Hey, can you hear me?"

You shake your head. You can hear him, but you're far from okay. Hotch bites commands over his shoulder, holding your waist in his hands like he's worried you'll slip out of them. Tight. Too tight. You suck in as big a breath as you can manage and choke on it, coughing, the wild sting of your wounds a ringer.

"You did so well," he says as he catalogues your injuries, his frown deepening. He tilts your head up to the light.

"I knew you were on your way," you deflect.

"You were talking him down."

"No, I was surrendering."

"You didn't give in until you saw me. You weren't surrendering."

"But I would have," you whisper, closing your eyes.

"Doing what you need to to survive isn't easy. But you do it."

You hang your head.

—

Hotch winces at the sound of your skin being sewn closed. Morgan sits beside you in the back of the ambulance holding your hand, your fingers twitching between his with every tug. They dosed you and applied a general anaesthesia, but the pain is pervasive. His eyes keep moving back to your hand in Morgan's. He isn't jealous —he's annoyed with himself. Hotch should be the one holding your hand.

He should've hugged you. The absence of it feels awkward between you, though he's positive that that's the last thing you're thinking of right now.

"Will you have to set her nose?" Morgan asks.

The paramedic shakes his head. "Not broken. Just very badly bruised. Even the bone."

"That doesn't need a cast?"

Hotch should hold your hand, should hug you, should be organising the scene. Should, should, should. The only thing he's managed to do since he incapacitated your stranger is watch you for signs of life.

You're despondent. In shock, no doubt. You let your friends pass you from place to place with little more than pained sighs for input.

JJ does an excellent job of surveying the goings on, while Rossi and Reid take care of some of the bigger questions: who is this guy, what did he want, and how did it come to happen?

What did he want? Hotch can guess. Rage collects like the heart of a furnace, a molten cup of steel in his throat as what he heard you say plays over and over in his head.

You'll be gentle?

No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?

He'll never forget the way you sounded asking that question. Terrified, begging for a scrap of mercy.

Emily approaches from behind. "We have a name." Hotch tips his head to show he's listening. "Paulo Danvers. He was part of a crew that installed her security parameters a few months ago. He was vetted. This shouldn't have happened."

"No, it shouldn't have." Hotch lowers his tone, "She said she wasn't sure she set the lock."

"It wouldn't have mattered. He disengaged it from the outside." Emily takes a few steps closer to the ambulance. "Hey. Morgan taking care of you?"

"Don't I always?" Morgan asks, clapping your arm gently.

You don't answer.

"What, you're not talking to me?" Emily asks. She's not mad, the opposite. Concern lines her eyes, thin brows pinching together at the starts, though she does her best to smile through it.

"I don't feel well," you say quietly.

"Yeah? You're not squeamish, are you?"

"Don't think so."

"It's shock," says the paramedic.

"What's your pain like?" Hotch asks. He's the only person you'll give a straight answer to. "Bad?"

"Yeah." Your hand is lax in Morgan's.

"I can give you slow release tramadol to last the night or codeine pretty much immediately. It's up to you. And I'm really not comfortable with releasing you without next of kin. Do you have family in the area?"

You shake your head. "It's just Hotch. Agent Hotchner," you correct yourself, nodding at him.

"You're her partner?" the paramedic asks. He can sense the disapproval.

"Her boss."

"Not her partner?"

"He's my closest friend," you say.

He's never heard you say that before, but it's true.

"I wish you were my boss," the paramedic jokes, turning back to her supplies as she peels off her gloves. "Maybe I'd get better sick pay."

You're given slow release tramadol and officially pronounced to be on the mend. If he didn't have an FBI badge, you'd be spending the night on a ward. He'd prefer if you did, but you clearly don't want to be somewhere alone right now, and he just wants to give you what you want after having your choices held over your head.

He's not offended when Emily asks if you'd prefer to stay with her. It's harrowing what might have happened to you had you not heard the initial break in, and the perpetrator would've been a man like Hotch. Tall, white, dark-haired. He wouldn't blame you for needing space from him to feel safe tonight, but he's relieved when you turn her down.

"You don't have to act like something happened to me," you say.

Hotch clicks down the locks of his car and turns on the overhead light. You squirm in the passenger seat, looking wrecked. Your chin is split, your nose a dark purple mess cut by white splint. You have a cut on your cheek and another just above your eye.

"You don't think something happened?" he asks, hands on his legs. He can tell you wish he would start the car and take you home without pressing.

"No, I know, I look awful, but he didn't do anything to me." Why is it so hard to say what it could have been? "You don't have to act like I'm gonna wig if you touch me."

"You won't mind if I hug you?" he asks.

"No. No, I want you to."

It's thankfully a short gap to cover as Hotch leans over the console. He's careful of your face and still you mumble a tired, "Ouch," in his ear.

He rubs your back, slow and soft. "You okay?" he asks.

You don't answer for a while. It doesn't matter, Hotch'll sit here in his parked car for hours if you want him to, hands on your hunched back. Your face hides away. He can feel and hear your distress building, and he wants you to cry if you need to, but it'll hurt.

"Sh," he hushes you gently, "it's okay."

"I'm fine." You sound welled up.

"Someone broke into your home and held you at gunpoint. You don't have to be fine."

"Yeah, I do. It's my job."

"No, that's not your job," he says, closing his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your job. This is about something bad happening to you. Don't put walls up now. It won't work, it never does."

He tries to back away in case you're overwhelmed.

"Wait," you say, your panic like a cough.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says.

You sniffle, nodding into his chest. Hotch has comforted a hundred victims of violent assault. He's held the faces of women he didn't know hoping to give them something solid to lean on. But it's different with you, because you and Hotch aren't simply friends. There's a deeper vein of affection, and tonight's event is a jagged slash against it, bringing every unbidden feeling he has for you to the surface. He can't get how scared you sounded out of his head. He knows that feeling is still there.

"How did you get here so fast?" you asked.

"I took the side road. And went unavoidably fast."

You make a small, small sound. He's known you for long enough to understand what it demarcates, unsurprised when the trembling of your shoulders turns to pained shaking. Hotch holds you delicately. He's done so much in his life, made a thousand and one mistakes, used a heavy hand when he could've been sweeter. He's determined to get this part right.

"I'm with you now," he says. "I'm sorry I couldn't–" This is harder than he imagined. He presses on. "Couldn't protect you from the start."

"You know why I called you?" you ask, your tone similarly soft.

Hotch doesn't bother answering. The answer is unsaid, loudly heard.

"I knew you'd come," you finish.

He puts a hand on your neck to encourage you into place, kissing the side of your head. Hotch will always come when you call.

That night, you ask to sleep in his room. I'll sleep on the floor, just don't want to be alone. You're in ragtag clothes he'd scraped together for you, and after helping you wash the blood from your hair and face, you're even more impossible to say no to than usual, looking small in a way you haven't before. Hotch sets you up in bed next to him and wonders if he'll ever sleep next to someone he hasn't let down.

You put that notion straight in your sleep. Hotch lays awake sick with the idea that he's failed you, and you, frowning, snoring, covered in cuts, curl into his side. You cling to his arm so hard he's certain you're awake at first, a bouquet of bruises painted across your cheek.

Hotch pulls the blanket up over your shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to your forehead.

He whispers your name, not sure what he'd say if you answered.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed♡ I haven't written long form (ish) for Hotch in a while so I'm nervous but I hope it's good!! let me know also if you'd like a second part cos usually I don't feel like there's much left to tell but for this one the could actually confess :o

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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sanguineterrain · 1 month

Text

in the buff | jason todd

Summary: The one where you learn firsthand that Jason Todd sleeps in the nude.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings/tags: best friend jason, awkwardness, nudity, reader hardcore thirsting over jaytodd, love confessions, humor (attempts at it, anyway), silliness. inspired by this post!

the divider

There's been a huge (blessed) development in the drug ring case that you and Jason are working on. You can hardly sleep now.

Normally, you'd call or text Jason, even though he's usually already in the know. It's possible that you just like having an excuse to call him, but who can confirm such a thing?

But it's late, probably too late to call, considering Jason doesn't answer his phone unless it's pinged directly to his helmet after a certain time, courtesy of his family being "a buncha jackasses" (his words, obviously).

But maybe it's not too late for a visit. After all, Jason patrols late, and has insane insomnia. He very well could be awake at this late hour. And he's never minded you dropping by before.

In truth, you haven't seen Jason in a few days and you feel restless now when you go longer than a day without seeing each other. You're not quite sure why that is.

So here you are, disabling the window alarm on Jason's apartment. Partly for a case, partly for your own benefit.

It takes a few minutes but you manage to open the window without anyone calling the police or whacking you with a broom. You slide open the window mostly soundlessly. Then you wait. The room remains dark and quiet.

You're pretty proud of yourself actually. It's not that you're green when it comes to spycraft, but you're certainly no Batman.

Still, you've managed to sneak into Jason's apartment without waking him. The Red Hood. You peek in to check if he's really asleep.

And he is, dark hair stark against the white pillow. It sticks out in messy tufts. You can't see past Jason's neck and his freckled arms, illuminated by the orange streetlight outside. You put your laptop bag on the floor.

He's sleeping on his stomach, facing away from you, but you're very endeared by how he's curled up under his sheet, hands tucked under his pillow. If you went really close to his face, you could count his eyelashes. Jason has such pretty eyelashes.

That's a perfectly normal thought to have about your best friend, right? Boys have pretty eyelashes. You're just making an observation.

You're bewildered by how cold the room is, surprised that Jason can withstand such a temperature. Maybe it's a Pit thing.

You watch him for a moment longer. Guilt pools in your gut. Are you really going to wake him when he's probably just gone to bed in the last hour? It takes Jason so long to fall asleep, you know that.

...

No, you should let him sleep. You can work on the case in the morning.

You bend down to get your laptop bag. In that time, the light flicks on.

You flinch, turn around, and find yourself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Said gun is held by an extremely naked Jason Todd.

"Oh my God!" you say at the same time Jason realizes his mistake.

"What the fuck!" he shouts, grabbing a pillow to cover himself.

But not before you get an eyeful of your best friend's, er, weaponry.

"Why are you naked?" you shout, gaze darting everywhere. Good Lord, it's seared into your retinas. You're never getting the image of Jason's dick out of your brain.

"Why are you in my apartment?" Jason snaps back.

"No, my question is way more urgent," you say.

"No the hell it's not! You broke in! I'm allowed to be naked in my apartment!"

"Okay. Alright. I came because there's been a development in our case. I thought we could work on it together but when I realized you were asleep for real, I decided to leave."

Jason rolls his eyes. "You know I'm a light sleeper. I just went to bed. I was up late.”

Realization strikes you. Could it be...?

"Oh my God. Do you have someone here?" you ask, voice sinking to a whisper.

"I have you here," Jason says irritably.

"No, like—" You make a hole with one hand and stick a finger into it. "Y'know..."

"Jesus, no!" Jason's face twists in disgust. "C'mon!"

"Okay, chill out, Jay-Jay. It'd be fine if you did. I can keep a secret," you say, shrugging. People have sex. You know that. You've never thought about Jason having sex, but you suppose it's possible. Why not? Just because you've never had sex and you always hoped that Jason would be your first doesn't mean that he would. If he's moved on in his life, then you should too.

Jason scoffs. "Yeah, okay. You think anybody would get into bed with a headcase like me?"

Hope rekindles. You're not behind. Jason's right there with you, virginity firmly intact.

He puts the safety back on the gun, squishing the pillow against himself with his elbow. You watch in fascination at his multitasking. Jason starts to turn around to put the gun behind the headboard before clearly thinking twice about mooning you.

"So... why are you naked?" you ask, respectfully keeping your eyes north of the equator.

"If you must know, I sleep in the nude. Now turn around."

You don't turn around. "In the nude?"

Jason's eye twitches. "Yes, nude. It's better for your body and it's more comfortable and I don't—"

You pull a face. "Who says in the nude? How old are you, a hundred?"

"That's what you're harping on?" Jason asks. "You broke into my apartment!"

You hold up a finger. "I didn't break in, I disarmed the alarm like you taught me."

"Yeah, which was only for emergencies. This isn't an emergency. Now turn around!"

So you turn around. You hear the pillow fall and the image returns. You recite the alphabet backwards. When that doesn't work, you think about the time you helped Jason on a mission in the sewers and couldn't get the smell out of your suit for a week.

Yeah, that'll do it. You shudder.

"Can't believe you just broke in," he mumbles. "Raised in a fuckin' barn, swear to God."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm truly, honestly sorry, Jaybee. From the bottom of my heart. Can I look now?"

"If you dare."

"Are you decent?" you ask.

"Too easy of a joke," he says. "Yeah, the jewels are covered."

You turn slowly. Jason's got red (ha) boxers on, so you turn all the way.

Huh. Well.

You've never really thought much about what Jason's got going on underneath his armor. Certainly, you've assumed that he's got a good physique and a lot of stamina, considering what he does. You've always assumed that. But Jason's Jason. Your best friend, Jason. Your best friend, Jason, who came back really tall, yeah, and with a deep voice and a super pretty face...

Well, anyway. He's Jason. That's all.

But now? Now you get to look in depth, and... whoa.

Jason's broad, stocky, heavily muscled with a soft layer of fat on top. His arms are huge, hands proportionally big. His pecs are full with pink nipples the same shade as his lips. That's a fact you're never forgetting. Your belly flutters.

Okay, what the fuck! No. This is peak creepy behavior, leering at your best friend like this, even if he does have shoulders you could sink your teeth into and thighs you'd happily get crushed between. No! Bad.

...You look some more. He's covered in scars. This is the first time you've seen his autopsy scar in person. It's white, noticeable but healed, like most of his scars. There's a dusting of dark hair from his chest to his belly button. It thickens as it dips beneath his—

Mm, nope. Not thinking about that again.

"Hello-o."

Your eyes dart back to his face.

"Are you listening to me?" he asks, forehead crinkled.

"What? Yes. Sorry. Yes." Your cheeks burn.

Something crosses Jason's face, too quick for you to read. But then his expression stones over. He glances at the dresser across from the bed.

"If you gimme a sec, I'll put a shirt on so y'won't have to look at all this," he says, gesturing roughly to his body.

You blink, lost in Jasonland. "Huh?"

"I know the scars are pretty gnarly. Lemme find a shirt."

Jason goes to the dresser and digs through the top drawer. His wide back is strung tight with tension, you can tell. You hurry to him, blocking the drawer with your arm. Jason looks at you, brows rising.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

"Um."

Words. You remember words, don't you?

"You..."

You haven't been physically close to Jason in a long time. He smells like soap and detergent and is all-encompassing. Your brain feels like slush. Don't stare at his pecs.

"I didn't—I'm not grossed out by your scars, Jason," you finally manage to say.

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Sure. You're just grossed out by everything else about me." He sighs wearily, like he's practiced this speech every night in the mirror. "Look, it's fine. I know I'm really—"

"No, it's not fine! I can't bear having you think I'm repulsed by your body, Jason. That's just not true," you say.

"Well, you were starin' pretty hard, so—"

"But it wasn't—I wasn't staring in disgust, I was—I..."

Jason crosses his arms. His pecs are pushed up as he does so. His stomach looks so soft. But you know he's strong. Way stronger than you. Strong enough to wield his strength against you, if you wanted him to. Strong enough to be gentle with you, too.

You wonder if he's still ticklish.

"You're doin' it again!" Jason says, and this time he really does look hurt. Fuck. Fuck! You're a shitty best friend.

"No!" You lock eyes with him. "No, no! I mean, yes, I was looking at you. But I wasn't looking in a bad, judgy way. I was, uh, taking in your physique. Because you have a... a very nice body. I've never seen you without clothes so I was looking at you. Sorry."

Yeah, you'll just go die in a hole after this.

Jason squints at you for a long moment. You start to shift in place. Sweat beads on your forehead. You lick your lips, hoping Jason can hear your honesty.

"Are you messin' with me?"

"Huh?" You shake your head. "No, why would I—"

"You're really telling me that you find this," Jason gestures to his body, "Good looking?"

This is worse than any physical torture. You'd prefer Batman beating you up on a roof to being here.

You rub your temple, cheeks aflame. "Oh my God. Yes, Jason, you're a good looking guy. Can we move on?"

"No, 'cause I think you're lyin', and I don't like it. You're always honest with me."

"I am being honest," you say, suddenly more annoyed than anything. Because what the fuck? "Are you kidding me? There's a whole forum dedicated to the Red Hood and how much people want you to step on them. And that's without seeing your face! I have eyes, Jason, of course I find you attractive."

And that should be the end of it. Jason's already slack-jawed like a dead fish. But no, you keep going.

"You make me nervous and I thought I had a lid on it because we knew each other as kids but it's becoming clear that I very much don't, and that probably has to do with the fact that you're the only guy I've been close to, and I never got over you. And now I'm gonna go drown myself in the Hudson. Good night."

You go to slip out the window. Maybe it'll shut on your head and knock you out. That would be a divine gift.

It doesn't, though. The universe isn't so kind. Instead, Jason catches your arm and keeps you rooted to your spot. His hand is cold. You wonder if the rest of him is warm.

"Wait, wait. Just hang on."

You groan. "Dude, I'm fucking mortified over the last five minutes. Please let me keep some of my dignity," you say without looking at him.

"Now when have I ever done that?" You can hear the smile in his voice.

And suddenly, the miserable reality of never being more than friends with Jason Todd comes crashing down. It's too late. You've always been too late.

You sag in his grip.

"We can just forget this ever happened," you say quietly. "Chalk it up to idiocy."

"Mm, yeah, we could. 'Cept I don't think you're an idiot. And I want you to hear what I have t'say first. Will ya look at me?"

Mopily, you look at him. His hand drops.

"I—"

"You've never slept naked," you say before he can get a word out. "That's new. Otherwise, I would've known, and then I would've used the door."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Can I speak?"

You cross your arms. "Yeah, okay."

"First of all, I don't think it's necessary for me to disclose that I sleep in the nude." You open your mouth to argue. "But I know it was a mistake. I'm not mad about that. Okay?"

You nod. "Okay."

"I won't lie and say I'm not surprised at your... reaction. I don't really... I've never... I'm not Dick or Bruce, y'know? I wasn't told my whole life what a handsome boy I am. And dying and returning didn't really help with that stuff either."

"I think you're handsome, Jason," you say quietly. "Honest."

He coughs and looks away, a tiny blush on his cheeks. "Yeah, uh, think you've made that pretty clear. For the record, I think you're really beautiful. Always thought so."

Your eyes widen. "Really?"

"Well, yeah. I mean... yeah."

"You're just saying that 'cause I saw your vein cane," you say, grinning.

"Don't call it that."

"How about—"

"No."

You're both quiet.

"How 'bout pork swor—"

"No!"

You smile, eyes squinty. Jason glares.

"Don't nickname my thing," he says.

You nod solemnly. "You're right. It's your thing. You should choose its name."

He shakes his head. "Sucha weirdo."

"Hey, I've never been with a guy. I don't know the rules of thing-naming."

Jason tilts his head. "Never?"

"Never."

"Why?"

You shrug. "Never found anyone I liked enough, I guess. I've pretty much had my heart set on you, Jason."

His face softens. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, uh, me too," he says. "You're it for me, honey. I just never... I mean, really, I never thought it would actually happen with you. Not then, not now."

"Huh. You really should've flashed me earlier. We could've sped things up exponentially."

"Yeah, why didn't I think of that," Jason says dryly.

"Dunno! We all know you're more than a pretty face."

His face reddens. You grin.

"Are you shy?" you ask, dancing on your toes.

"No. Shut up."

"You're shy! I make Jason Todd shy! Oh, this is wonderful. I should break into your apartment regularly."

"It's just new for me!" he says. "Lea' me alone."

You cozy up to him, confidence renewed by the mutual confession. You wrap your arms around his neck. Jason looks at you, hands slowly coming to rest on your waist. The rest of him is warm.

"Just teasing you, Jaybee," you say.

"Hmm." He slowly nudges your cheek with his nose. "Like y'always do?"

"Like I always do," you say sweetly. "But for the record, if we ever share a bed in the future, you're gonna have to keep the soldier in his tent."

Jason lets go of you, exasperated. "Oh, for—y'know what? Your visitation privileges are revoked. Get outta my apartment."

You put on the saddest face you can muster. "You're kicking me out? Into the cold?"

"It's eighty degrees."

You sigh loudly. "Okay, fine. Date tomorrow?"

"Seriously?" Jason asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Seriously! Why wouldn't I be serious?"

"You really wanna date me?"

"Never been more sure of anything in my life."

Jason's relief is palpable and bittersweet. You'll spend the rest of your days letting him know just how spectacular he and his pectorals are.

"Okay," he says, shy again. You don't tease him this time.

"Great!" You close the distance between you and peck him on the cheek. His blinks in surprise.

"I'll give you a proper kiss on our date," you say, winking. "Bye, Jasey-Daisy."

"Bye, honey. Don't break into anyone else's apartment on your way home."

"Never," you say, climbing out the window. "You're the only one for me, Toddy!"

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x yn #jason todd x yn #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #red hood fanfic #humor #fluff

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tsukimefuku · 9 days

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You and Nanami decide to edge Hiromi to the verge of tears. content warning: smut, porn without plot, fem!reader, nanami x higuruma x reader, the roaring bisexuality agenda, piv, anal sex (m receiving), a few tears of frustration, overstimulation, teasing, soft dom!nanami. Roughly proofread. 2k.

"Stop teasing me and just do it!" Hiromi complained with a strained voice, words tumbling out of his lips in between whimpers. His arms were tensed, his hands bound behind his back by Nanami's signature yellow and black splattered tie, and small droplets of sweat smeared his temples as the back of his head rested on Nanami's shoulder. Hiromi's toes and feet curled nearly strongly enough to cramp, and his entire body shuddered violently.

You and Nanami shared a playful look, as you kept sliding your pussy over Hiromi's cock without ever letting it go past your entrance, and Nanami pressed just the tip of his length over Hiromi's hole, before retreating and repeating the same movement, again and again. The lawyer was at the mercy of you both, and got driven to the edge of overstimulation with all the teasing and denial.

Hiromi was sure he'd die out of sheer frustration as discreet tears pooled on his black eyelashes.

"Already? But we've been here for only a few minutes..." Nanami remarked with a hint of irony in his voice, his hand sliding up Hiromi's torso to hold the man's jaw.

"H-half an hour-" Hiromi replied breathless, before whining and scrunching his eyes shut when his tip's edge got caught under your folds. "P-please, I'm begging you both, I c-can't-"

You let out a soft chuckle in between your own pants and huffs, leaning forward to capture Nanami's mouth in a sloppy kiss that wasn't much more than tongue and saliva while you both sandwiched Hiromi in between your sweaty bodies. Your perked nipples brushed over Hiromi’s chest, and it was your turn to whimper into Nanami's mouth, robbing him of a leisurely grunt before you parted lips. As you did, you noticed his half lidded eyes simmering on some kind of need you were sure to be reflected in your own gaze.

You and Nanami were both already pretty wound up, too.

"Ask nicely and we'll do it," Nanami whispered against Hiromi's ear, before turning the man's face towards his own and thrusting his tongue inside Hiromi's mouth, earning him a sequence of delightful little whines and whimpers. A single tear of frustration rolled down Hiromi's cheek, while Nanami mindlessly pressed the tip of his cock once more against the lawyer's entrance. By this point, after so much grinding and lube, both condoms and a good portion of Hiromi's ass were all covered in slick.

The wet smacks of their lips combined with the scene of the two kissing sent a feverish throb directly to your core, and you mindlessly sunk the tip of his shaft past your ring. Hiromi immediately let out a loud moan into Nanami's mouth, and separated from the kiss in a sudden motion. His gaze went directly towards you, and his eyes begged for more.

"Love, my love, p-please-" His pleas came strained, almost in a high pitch, as his hips began thrusting softly in an effort to push his cock deeper into you. After so much teasing, you could feel every ridge of it trying to bully inside your dripping pussy, and with a loud moan, you finally caved, sinking completely on Hiromi's cock, his tip brushing against your cervix the moment he bottomed out.

His head dangled back, mouth falling open to let out the strangled voice of a man who had just received deliverance. In response, you cried out his name, entwining your fingers over the nape of his neck.

Nanami scoffed, a discreet smile pulling on his cheek, his voice filled with a half-hearted chide.

"You both crumble so easily..." he teased, his own pants in between his words betraying just how close he was to crumble down just as easy. With his hands, Nanami swiftly pulled on one end of the tie, freeing one of Hiromi's hands. In sequence, he commanded, "lay down, you two."

Hiromi didn't need to be told twice, and pushed you down beneath him on the bedsheets, plunging his cock as far as it would go into your walls while clashing his lips to yours. You moaned and mewled into his mouth, feeling the delicious stretch from having him inside you, and drew your nails down his back, marking him with pretty red lines all over his skin.

From his privileged viewpoint, Nanami watched as you both fucked, and pondered if he'd prefer to just sit back and watch. Hiromi was clearly pussy drunk, and you weren't fending off any better, not knowing if you should press your body against his or sink into the mattress as he dicked you down into it.

However, Nanami's twitching cock begged to differ, and he plastered his hands on Hiromi's waist, halting the other man's movements.

"Stay still," he ordered, much to your complaint. Hearing your frustrated whine, Nanami chided, "You two are incorrigible."

Not wasting any time, Nanami leaned forward, teasing the tip of two fingers on Hiromi’s entrance. With a whimper against your cheek, Hiromi involuntarily bucked his hips, dragging his cock inside your cunt. You whined, turning your face to press your lips against his once again. To hold him in place, Nanami reached out his other hand to hold the man’s waist.

“I said still.”

Collecting some lubrication left on the area from earlier, Nanami slowly inserted one finger, stretching Hiromi’s walls. The burning sensation prickled Hiromi’s eyes with tears, and you brought your hands up, thumbing the tiny droplets away from his eyelashes.

“Oh, Kento… go easy on him”, you cooed, peppering kisses all over Hiromi’s face. His brows furrowed, his cheeks flustered, his mouth agape letting out tiny sounds, and his eyes sealed shut morphed into one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen.

“I am going easy, I’m even warming him up,” Nanami replied, a minute smile flashing through his lips as he carefully inserted the second finger. His touch was tentative and deliberate, massaging Hiromi from within, each second of it driving the man a little more wild.

“You know, I only told him to be still.” Nanami’s voice sounded curiously playful, as you looked up and saw his eyes burning into you. “You can move.”

You immediately understood what he was suggesting, and Hiromi had just about enough time to crack his eyes slightly open before you started to roll your hips against his. He moaned and instantly approached to kiss you, but you covered his mouth with one of your hands, smiling coyly at him.

With his body all hot and warm and cold and quivery everywhere, Hiromi was absolutely sure at that moment that you and Nanami were trying to kill him, and he was sure he’d die.

Well… There were worse ways to go.

“Fuck me, please, I c-can’t stand this any longer. I’ll- aaah, ah- God…” Hiromi’s voice came muffled through your fingers, his hot breath moistening your skin. He blabbered away in despair, while Nanami’s grip tightly against his waist kept him from burying himself into you or humping back on Nanami’s fingers.

It was torture all over again.

With an amused huff, Nanami finally pulled his fingers out of Hiromi. He quickly propped himself up and leaned himself over, having his cock sliding over where he had his fingers pumping in seconds before.

With a firm movement, he pressed his tip right through the initial resistance, easing himself inside Hiromi. In small pumps, Nanami made sure to slide himself inside as gently as possible, even though the prior relentless teasing would suggest otherwise. On your end, filled up to the brim and face to face with the brunette you and Nanami had tortured for the past God knows how many minutes, you saw Hiromi's eyes roll back into his skull as he let out the most intense, gut-wrenching, lewd moan you had ever heard falling out of his lips.

If there had been any thoughts in his mind, they were sure as hell all gone by now.

You uncovered his mouth while all the three of you began rocking each other's bodies, trying to find a rhythm, and shoved your tongue inside Hiromi's mouth without much other than hunger and desperation. His moans and whines reverberated inside your own, all over your tongue and sending a second heart beat directly into your pussy. Oh, God.

Nanami descended over Hiromi's body, and began nibbling, biting, kissing and sucking the skin in between his shoulder blades, all the way up to his neck. Nanami had his eyes screwed shut in the most blissful stupor you had ever seen on his face, his mouth agape, letting out a few gasps and low groans, few and not-so-far in between. He had one of his hands holding onto the bed headboard, and was absolutely sure he would end up tearing it off solely on brute force if he wasn't careful enough.

The entire room filled with the lewd sounds of your sweat glistened bodies slapping and sliding against each other, your and Hiromi's moans and whimpers mingling into one single symphony, and Nanami – arguably the only one who still held onto any sliver of sanity – only barely registered the sound of dragging wood. Perhaps the bed rocking on the floor, who the hell knew at this point.

Hiromi's cock was plunged inside you, and he moved his hips in between thrusting himself deeper into you and having Nanami filling him on pure instinct. If someone had asked him his name at that moment, he wouldn't know what words were. The way he pressed against your pubic mound and clit were dragging you towards your orgasm pretty fast, especially considering you were buried under the two hottest men you knew, but the way his length throbbed and pulsed inside – as well as his completely fucked out and messy face – made it evident you would not beat him to it.

In a few moments, his entire body jolted and shuddered in convulsive movements that had Nanami coming back to Earth just to slowly still his movements as Hiromi reached his peak. Brain fog wasn't a strong enough expression to convey Hiromi's state of mind – it was as if his brain had melted and dripped out of his ears with each spurt of white, hot, thick cum that filled the condom as he sloppily still tried to keep pumping himself into you. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, and he bit you down as if to hold you in place like prey, robbing you of a whimper.

"I… I need…" was all that Hiromi managed to whisper, his voice gruff and low, completely spent. His hand made its way behind towards Nanami, who gently slid himself out of Hiromi, having the man quiver as soon as he was done, falling to your side.

Pent-up. Even though Hiromi had seen the face of God and came with all the might a human body was able to withstand without perishing, Nanami was still very much in need, like a stranded traveler in sandy deserts craving a glass of water. He pulled his condom out and collapsed in between you and Hiromi, sighing deeply while he covered his eyes with his forearm, the angst of a stilted orgasm still lingering in his pained expression.

He dove one of his hands towards his cock, but you promptly held it, biting his jaw with a mischievous smile. Much to Nanami's surprise – who expected Hiromi to have fainted – the other man rolled towards him, encircling his own fingers around Nanami's length, planting a few kisses down his neck.

"Your turn."

End notes: Shoutout to whoever wrote this KusaHiguNana masterpiece that inspired my unholy thoughts (link here).

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

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dearest-nell · 2 months

Text

morning person

s. harrington x reader, 2.8k

summary: a snapshot into the morning routine of steve harrington, now that the two of you have moved in together includes: established steve x reader, domestic fluff, steve is a busybody. warnings: literally none except i am still incapable of proofreading properly

a/n: honestly if anyone has any requests i would love to hear them, or just want to chat about this show that has ruined my life, because i'm spiralling into obsession over here.

People who complain about mornings have obviously never spent one waking up beside Steve Harrington, this you’re sure of. Because if they had, then they would know there was nothing in the world so deliciously saccharine than that drowsy, softened look on his face as he blinks the sleep away from mingling eyelashes, his lips curving upwards into a dreamy sort of smile. This isn’t even the first time he has awoken this morning.

Steve Harrington is a morning person – an early riser, a dawn greeter, a restless child on christmas day. His body clock is set as the sun begins to kiss the horizon, his eyes blinking open into a dark, cool bedroom. New. This bedroom is new. He is still getting used to it, this apartment, a dingy one bedroom located just a few blocks from the rougher side of town. It’s a far cry from the mansion he used to live in, small and outdated and a little worse for wear, if he were to say so himself, but it’s home. It’s home because it’s his, and it’s home because it’s yours. You rent it together, bills strung haphazardly from paychecks of jobs you’d both rather live without. Steve doesn’t mind that he still works at the video store, not when it lights up the lamp on his bedside, or cooks the pasta on your shitty gas top that flickers every so often. He needs to call the service guy, now that he thinks about it, but it’s too early to matter.

He can feel the heat of your body pressed in beside him, curled in on yourself, face buried into the pillow now folding creases into your skin, shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You have never been a morning person, he learned rather early on. You’re delirious, and grumpy, and still so beautiful despite the glare in your eyes when he used to wake you, and now, he knows to let you sleep. His impatience to rouse you, to kiss you and touch you is an urge he’s learned to swallow, so he pauses for a moment simply to stare, to smile to himself at the way you mumble in your dreams.

He has the time, he thinks, considering it’s still dark out, and his shift at the store is not due for half a morning away, so he lets himself linger, tucked into the warmth of bedsheets as he works up the courage to leave it. He knows he needs to, that he’ll feel better if he does, that the routine always pays off even if it means parting from you. The air will be chilly outside, but he needs the cold to clear his head. His morning run is his time, after all. It gives him the solitude to consider, to plan, to unwind.

He slips from the bed, careful footsteps walking a still unfamiliar path through the bedroom, boxes stacked against a near wall still unpacked from the move. His sneakers are in the wardrobe, well placed for a quick pick up, though he hasn’t accounted for his discarded shirt rippled right in his path. He trips, stumbling slightly, cursing himself as the thud that resounds as heavy feet meet the floorboards. He turns with a cringe, hearing you stir, though you do not rise as you wriggle deeper into yellow linens, disappearing beneath the comforter.

He’s quick to dress, not wanting to risk another incident and the wrath of your disturbed sleep, slipping out into the living room to tie his shoes, still half asleep and blinking blearily. Despite its flaws, he likes this apartment more than he thought possible. There’s a passthrough between the kitchen and the living room that lets him talk to you as he cooks, you hanging over the bench to smile at him, pressing kisses into his shoulder when he dares to come too close. There’s a strange nook that sits in the wall by the door, one that now holds your keys and bumble bee umbrella, though neither of you are too sure why it was built in the first place. There’s a flat expanse outside the bathroom window that you want to build a flower box into, though Steve is yet to determine how, since neither of you are particularly good at D.I.Y. He loves this second hand couch Eddie found on the curb, loves the strange, abstract art piece Will designed for you both as a housewarming, loves the ceramic clown that Robin stole from an overpriced giftshop to hide in one of your moving boxes, now settled in the bookshelf beside an array of half read novels between you.

He’s building a life here with you, and Steve is trying his best to remind himself of it every chance he get. There will be Christmases spent in these walls, games night drinks spilled on this carpet, and so many I love you kisses pressed to smiling cheeks beside that front door – he hardly knows how to contain the excitement for it all, even as he ties his laces.

The morning is colder than he expected, but Steve has never been one to check the weather even now, even after he caught a cold from a raining run one morning, taking himself straight to work rather than home to you to shower. He figure’s he’ll wing it, deal with the consequences as they come, and enjoy the way you dote on him as he whines and groans in his flu like delirium days later. Cold, but not raining, he knows he’ll be fine this time.

He’s been planning out this new jogging route as he goes, still learning the maps and turns of each new lane. He’d never been to this part of town much before the move, but he’s starting to acclimate one run at a time. It’s not too far from Hawkins, after all. It still feels like a familiar place, but it’s closer to the community college to save you the travel time. Steve’s a visual learner, after all. It gives him the roadmap that he’ll need to plan out his week. He’s taking himself the long way just to jot down the layout; the farmers market, the hardware store, the cafe with the good coffee. He waves to the people he passes by, few and far between, trying to appear friendly. He doesn’t know yet the culture of this community, but he’s eager to make a good impression. He recognises the old man who runs the news agency, stops to chat as they talk about the community centre. Steve’s agreed to volunteer for the refurbishment, he’s hoping it’ll help you both settle in, and you’ve promised to bake up your best batch of pastries to feed the hungry husbands as they work. Steve’s not yet a husband, but he’s planning on changing that in due time.

The sun mingling with the clouds by the time he departs again, his pace quickening through midtown suburbia to take him home. The paperboy is tossing rolls at the doors, barely breaking on his bike as he passes house after house. Steve moves onto the road to avoid any collisions, shaking his head as the teen wheels off past a corner. He hasn’t even thought about his week yet, he realises, and his pace drops in consideration. There’s a stocktake coming up at work that will take more energy than he has to give, his parents are due over for dinner later in the week (he’s hoping they’ll cancel), and Robin has booked him tickets to some kind of gig that he’s certain he’ll hate. He mentally notes the checklist – things to buy, things to do, things to clean – now able to see his lot clearly without the buzz of a busy world around him. His days run smoother this way, alone, soles beating against the pavement. It starts him on the right foot.

He’s out of breath when he arrives back on your block, panting heavily without the grace of a water bottle. He knows he should have brought one, but there’s no point stewing on it now. His thighs ache as he climbs the staircase, three flights of stairs his least favourite part of coming home. He can’t imagine hauling groceries up this stairwell is going to be an enjoyable weekly endeavour, but for the price of rent, he’s willing to make the effort, even with a slightly busted knee.

He’s a little louder than he wants to be as he eases open the lock, slipping into a slightly brighter apartment than when he left. He doesn’t think you’re awake, but he takes pause to slow himself down, turning into the kitchen instead of the bedroom. Steve clicks on the faucet, hanging his head below the tap to let the cool water run directly into his mouth. He lacks grace as he guzzles down half a litre, droplets trickling down his cheeks and chin into unclean dishes from the night before. There’s urgency, he decides, in this drink. No type for a cup, no time to pause. He pulls away gasping, wiping a cupful of water across his sweat slicken face, unable to suck enough breath into his lungs. He leans back against the benchtop, eyes pressed skyward to focus on slowing himself down, letting his heart rate drop back to a blissful pace.

He knows he should shower, but more than anything, he’s aching to get back between the sheets with you. It’s funny how he still misses you when you’re not within reach, even for an hour, even when he knows you’re still wrapped up tight in the comforts of his bed. It feels wrong to love a person this much, like he shouldn’t be made to feel so much, so deeply, every passing minute of every passing day. But he does. He knows he’s not the first to feel such a love, but he thinks he might be the only one regardless, because no one else has you. He thinks it’s strange that everyone in the world isn’t aching to be by your side, that hearts all over the town aren’t skipping beats at the wideness of your smile, the curve of your shoulder, the tickle of your laugh. This love must be special, then, because how else can he be the only one so enamoured by you.

He forces himself into the shower, the water not yet warm even as he sinks his head beneath the stuttering stream. The pipes are old, though a cold shower bothers him far less than it bothers you. He’ll be out quicker this way. He is less thorough in his cleaning than he thinks he ought to be, scrubbing furiously at his body with the loofah you bought him, scraping sweat and red streaks into a now fading tan. He’s seeing the sun less these days in the dead of autumn, but he’ll make it up later. Right now, all he is focused on is climbing back into his bed, his skin stained with a citrus scent embedded into the new soap you had bought. It’s not his usual brand, but he thinks he likes the change anyways. It reminds him of summer picnics with you, fingers digging into orange peels, juices dribbling down his fingers until he tears out slices one by one. The scent lingers, filled with your orange flavoured kisses and sun streaked highlights burning into his mind, and yes, he thinks, the change isn’t so bad.

He shuts off the tap, yanking his towel from the rack to pat himself dry, hair shaking out like a puppy dog with rambunctious excitement to be on his way. He doesn’t bother to redress, dropping the towel to the floor without focus, padding back towards your bedroom. You’re exactly how he left you, though a little more illuminated in the morning light. You’ve wiggled out of the blanket again, one foot kicked out to the side to regulate your body temperature, one hand reaching out towards his side of the bed. You reach for him in your sleep sometimes, and he hates the idea of not being there for you when you do.

He clambers into bed his eagerness betraying his stealth, expert hands lifting your arm up for him to slide under, hanging it securely over his waist as he settles into the warm dip of the mattress. Your body responds instinctively, rolling into him with a groan, still not quite awake, though he can tell you’re not so far off. He runs fingers through your hair, trying to stave off your inevitable waking for as long as he can manage. Your alarm isn’t due for another hour, and he wants every second before that spent just like this.

He doesn’t mean to fall back asleep, but sleep takes him anyways, his eyes blinking shut under the hypnotic pattern of your breathing beside him. He’ll wake up again groggier now, but there is nothing to be done to change it. He tugs you in closer, rougher in his sleep, his neediness permeating his unconscious mind until you’re pressed square against him. The movement spurs you awake, slowly and unintentionally, though it takes you a moment to understand why.

There he is, your man, your darling boy, mouth hanging open with quiet, rumbling snores, arms wrapped around you in a protective lock. He’s never looked more beautiful, even with your eyes out of focus, one closed and pressed into the fabric of your pillowcase. You can smell the soap, feel the softness of his now cleansed skin beneath your curious fingertips, and you know he’s already been out of bed. He tries his best not to fall back asleep, but your smile curves wider to be blessed to see it. There’s a jealousy in you, after all, that he gets to watch you sleep so often. Times like these are rare, when you awaken first, and you’re greedy in your enjoyment of them. You’d take a picture if you thought you could reach the camera, but the moment would spoil, you were sure. You commit it to memory instead, every dip and curve and freckle and hair burned into your head until it’s all you can see. You want his face to be a fading image that blinks to life behind every close of your eyes, an after image repeating itself well into the day when you’re far away from him.

He is so lovely, and you are so in love.

The alarm breaks the two of you out of your reverie, your body jolting at the surprise of it. Steve is slower to start this time, groaning a drunken sort of sound as you slam your hand down on the rattling clock. His arm tightens around you, dragging you until your body is half wedged under his own, your giggles drowning out into muffled chuckles as your face burrows into the crook of his neck.

“I fell back asleep.” He mutters, closing his eyes with a sigh.

“I know.” You coo back, adjusting the curve of your back to a more comfortable position, tangling legs between his own until you’re thoroughly wrapped.

“You sound awake.” He mumbles back, squeezing at your waist with unmasked affection. “Were you up?”

“Yeah.” It’s an airy sort of confession, made to match the tender strokes of fingers reaching to scrape lovingly at his scalp. “Just watchin’ you sleep.”

“Perv.” He teases, kissing at your hair, mouth hungry and missing your skin entirely. He lights up as you giggle, his head lifting with heavy blinks to gaze down at you, hair pressed upwards into a lopsided mess. You do your best to pat it down for him. “You like what you see?”

You crook your head to the side, focusing your gaze in a tender expression. “Something like that.” His brow arches curiously, leaving you to laugh again. “I love you, you moron.”

His smile widens, head dropping to nuzzle his nose roughly into your cheek, lips catching on your jaw every so often with exaggerated noises of enthusiasm. “Love you too, baby.”

There is silence for a minute, nothing but his lips dragging affection across the planes of your cheek, his hands wandering underneath the fold of your bedshirt to press fingertips into fading stretch marks across your hips. You’re worried he’ll fall asleep again, and you know you don’t have the heart today to wake him a second time.

“You want breakfast? I can make jam on toast?”

He hums a happy sound, though does nothing to release his grip on you. “Yeah, okay. Gonna have to escape me, though. Can’t make my arm move.”

He pretends to try and shuffle his grip, putting on a little show with a pout when his hold does not dislodge. You roll your eyes, brushing the pad of your thumb against his brow bone.

“Five more minutes, then.”

Steve was back asleep within three.

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spookyrea · 3 months

Text

... Though I'm Not That Flexible

(part 2 following You Can Wrap Me 'Round Your Finger)

You prepare to tell Loki you love him. Much to his embarrassment, Loki has to tell you something, too.

(aka - frost giant biology is weird and Loki has to suffer the consequences) (and you're kinda into it) (oops)

Chapter 2 / 2 -- read it on AO3 here

Word count: ~9k

Warnings: 18+ !! fem reader; courtship/nesting behaviour, smut (and I mean... smut)

You watched Steve haul himself into the boxing ring, internally groaning at the thought of going toe-to-toe with the Man with a Plan himself.

Loki hovered at your shoulder looking decidedly out of place in a button-down and trousers; he was off the training roster for the week after Bucky had benched him for his ‘poor attitude’. The only people currently brave (or stupid) enough to spar with him were Steve and Thor, the latter of whom was banned from sparring with Loki indoors because of, to quote Pepper, the 'Thor-And-Loki Event' in June.

Privately, you agreed with Bucky’s assessment – Loki had been acting strange lately. Clingy, extra affectionate but equally as moody. Any time you tried to pry you were met with the same response – that Loki was “fine” and “had complete control” over the situation.

Sometimes the best option with Loki was to let him come to you. His desire for absolute control was multi-faceted, but it usually worked out best if he could ask for help and feel like he had an explanation as to why. You knew from experience that hounding him could dig up raw insecurities about worth and ability. So - you made the most of it; if Loki was going to be clingy, he could at least be useful and clingy.

“Hold these, please.” You pushed your towel and water bottle into his hand. Loki accepted them with only minor complaint, tucking them under his arm to make room for everything else you were sure to pile onto him.

Steve rattled the ropes fencing him inside the boxing ring. “Come on, soldier. Don’t keep an old man waiting.”

Loki stretched to hide his sparkling fingertips; you knew his seidr well enough by now to recognize how Steve’s shoelaces unraveled with a mind of their own.

With his arms raised like that, there was no denying Loki’s ‘growth-spurt’ – the buttons on his shirt strained to stay in their buttonholes, gaping a little across his chest. You fought back a grin, watching a young intern (definitely part of Tony’s university pipeline program) spill water down her front while admiring the pull of yet another too-small shirt. A few of her friends giggled, their faces downcast but their gazes teasing, peering up through their eyelashes every few seconds.

“What?” Loki glanced over his shoulder in the direction you were looking.

“Nothing. Some kids are staring at you, that’s all.” You honestly weren’t offended - you remembered what it was like to want Loki from afar, and you weren’t blind. You knew passersby were going to gawk and shoot him longing stares. Loki, however, seemed uncharacteristically upset. His eyes narrowed, upper lip curled slightly in dissatisfaction, and he turned back to you with his shoulders drawn taut. He hooked his fingers in the pocket of your hoodie – Loki’s hoodie, actually, since yours seemed to have mysteriously disappeared – and tugged you into his chest, pressing a firm, dry kiss to your mouth.

You blinked dazedly at him once he’d slunk back. “Is this one of those ‘obviously not interested’ moments?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“People stare all the time. It’s nothing new.”

“I know.” A pretty pink blush was creeping up his cheeks, warming his pale complexion. “I just thought it pertinent to make my intentions crystal clear.” Then, after a beat- “Do you think anyone would notice if I locked the changing room doors and had my way with you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course they would. Now– help me up. I have a senior citizen to cream.”

If anyone was getting creamed, it was you.

You circled the boxing ring on shaky feet, watching Steve round on you with that quiet cockiness of his. He flicked his stupidly perfect bangs out of his stupidly beautiful eyes and mimed a one-two punch combo while you considered giving into the universe and letting your limbs turn to oatmeal. Bucky sat in a folding chair on the sidelines, picking your scrimmage apart with his stupidly brilliant and equally beautiful eyes.

You hated them.

Bucky picked up on details you would never have noticed – your uneven stance, the angle of your elbow when you raised your fists – and, while helpful on paper, it only served to raise your blood pressure by a few degrees. Not helped by the fact that Bucky seemed to know what moves Steve was going to make before he did, so could comment on your form before you’d even finished a move.

PAL whistled encouragement when you just barely blocked a left hook. Tony had set him in Bucky’s lap so he could watch you and Steve train. (“He’s so little. He can’t see over anything.”) At least PAL liked you, even if he was out for blood.

“I agree with the pest, darling. You should wring his neck,” Loki offered from the sidelines. He leant his head on his forearms where they were draped over the ropes, his bored expression betrayed only by the way his brow furrowed whenever Steve got too close to landing a hit.

(You were admittedly not very good at hand-to-hand combat. As a telekinetic, your fists were usually a last resort in the field.)

“This would all be so much easier if you stopped - hey! - swinging so much.” You swept the back of your hand across your eyes, hoping to clear the sweat pouring into them. “Also, has your stuff been going missing lately?”

“Kind of defeats the whole purpose of combat training.” Steve frowned, then threw his body weight into a kick to your chest, which you only barely dodged. He stumbled but quickly corrected, spinning to catch your right hook effortlessly. “But no, nothing’s gone missing lately. Well, my veggie straws have been disappearing but I buy those because Bucky insists he doesn’t like them and then sneaks them from my cupboard. Has he been breaking into yours too?”

You squirmed, planting your feet and leveraging your upper body to try and pry out of his hold. Unfortunately for you, Steve was two hundred and seventy pounds of solid steel pretending to be flesh, so you might as well have been a leaf trapped under a fourteen-wheeler. “No. My pillows keep disappearing.”

Your feet briefly left the ground when Steve lifted you by the wrists. He dumped you unceremoniously on the padded floor of the boxing ring and proceeded to loom over you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and fatherly rage. “Someone’s been perving on you?”

You pushed yourself upright, wincing when you felt your muscles protest the movement. “I don’t know!”

“Weird. Maybe you have a secret admirer. Loki!” Steve mimed an elbow drop but pulled his weight at the last second; he rolled to the side and sprawled out, all six-feet-four-inches of him laid out next to you without having broken a sweat. “Keep an eye on your girl, ya’ hear?”

Loki visibly preened at the idea of you being his girl. You felt a whisper of seidr across your cheek, a sparkling green kiss so fleeting it could have been a trick.

Steve squinted up at him from the floor of the boxing ring. “Are you bigger?”

“You’ve gotta start throwing punches, kid.” Bucky interrupted from the sidelines. PAL bobbed his head in agreement. “Look, I was just like you. A sharp shooter–”

“I’m telekinetic.”

“My point still stands. I did all my best work from a hundred yards away. But sometimes, in the field, you’re gonna have some guy get in your space and wail on you, and I need to know you won’t just fold like a deck of cards when that happens.”

“I’m sorry I’m not built like a tank, Bucky.” You swiped the edge of your shirt over your forehead, grimacing when the already-wet material slid over your damp brow.

“I’m not saying you have to put on a hundred pounds of muscle. Just-” Bucky slipped under the rope and into your personal space, rounding on you from behind to wrap his flesh arm around your throat. His other hand shot out and circled your wrist, holding it at an awkward angle so that your muscles locked uncomfortably. “Just play dirty. If I get this close, I will kill you. So what are you going to do about it?”

You hissed, jerking under his metal hand. “Ow, Bucky, I get it–”

It took all three of you a moment to register that the noise rumbling through the air was coming from Loki. The fluorescents overhead flickered in waves, darkness ebbing and flowing from a point above Loki’s head. They buzzed and crackled unnaturally with displeasure. Bucky’s arms dropped away to put a bit of space between your bodies. Loki’s eyebrows drew tight in the middle, a scowl twisting his pretty face.

“Hey, My Chemical Mischief,” Tony yelled from across the gym. “Cool it with the dick measuring contest, will you? We get it, she’s a kept woman - I don’t think Barnes wants any of that.”

Thor laughed. Racking his barbells, he straddled his padded bench and flicked sparks of electricity from his fingertips, a strange side-effect that manifested whenever he strained himself. He taunted something to Loki in their mother tongue and the effect was instantaneous; Loki gaped at his brother, his growling cut short, and hurled something – an insult? – back.

With a few words they reduced the other to adolescents. Though none of you mortals could even hope to dissect their twisting language, it was clear that the two of them were rehashing centuries of arguments all at once.

Loki reeled back when Thor, his nose tilted to the ceiling, punctuated a sentence with a nod in your direction. “You will do nothing of the sort,” Loki snapped in English.

“Loki.” Exasperation dripped from Thor’s tone, mingling with the kind of joy that came from lecturing a younger sibling. He folded his arms and shot Loki a smarmy do-as-I-say glare. ”This is only going to end in disaster.”

Loki’s jaw snapped shut with a click. His pinched expression seemed to push Thor to hysterics. Thor goaded him on, wagging a callused finger; Loki’s hand fisted at his side as he moved to strangle his brother.

They must have been terrible pests on Asgard.

In English, Thor continued: “I have never been happier that you were adopted. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. You’re preening. ”

Loki crossed the gym in a few long strides, a veritable storm cloud brewing over his head. The air crackled, ozone heavy in the air; the difference in pressure caused the open changing room door to slam shut, as if a draft had kicked up. Tony hopped to his feet, pointing between the two brothers. “Nuh uh. You guys take it outside. I am filled with too much scrap metal for you two to be throwing thunderstorms around inside. Again. ”

Loki grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck. Thor stumbled, still laughing, and tucked his shoulder into Loki’s chest as if to throw him over it. Loki hissed something unintelligible - Tony hollered something unrepeatable - and then the two brothers blinked out of sight in a flash of bright green.

You ran into them in the lobby on your way back from the corner store that evening. Both of them were soaking wet, their plainclothes plastered to their skin. Loki brushed by you with a stormy expression, anger rolling off of him in palpable waves; Thor followed a few feet behind, decidedly more jovial. Loki called over his shoulder: “do not say anything, Thor. I’m handling this.”

They left a trail of rainwater in their wake, their shoes squeaking across the marble floor. Thor clapped you on the shoulder as you passed and, through the widest grin you’d ever seen, said: “my darling friend – make sure you use protection.”

A flash of green sizzled across Thor’s knuckles; he yanked his hand away with a shout, raising his hand to examine a line of fresh, pink welts. Loki hissed at him; Thor cast you a sideways look, then winked. To his brother, he called: “I am always right, am I not?”

Loki snapped his fingers, calling Thor to attention like a master might call their dog to heel. Except Thor was the oldest, and had a petty streak longer than the continental United States, and his younger brother’s displeasure clearly brought him unbridled joy, so Thor slung one arm around your shoulder and gave you a squeeze, rubbing his prickly cheek against yours for good measure.

You squirmed under his arm. “Is this another Asgardian thing?”

Thor answered “no” at the same time that Loki answered “yes”.

Loki stormed back to your side and wrenched his brother away, speaking in a low tone. Fixing his brother with a scathing stare, Loki rubbed his thumb over your jaw, then rode his hand down the curve of your neck to sit on your shoulder, as if to wipe the physical evidence of his brother’s touch from your skin.

Thor sidled up behind Loki and scrubbed a hand over your cheek; Loki, hackles raised, elbowed his brother in the side, setting off a chain reaction of flying fists and snapping teeth.

Your groceries were definitely melting. “I’m gonna go. Uh, Loki, you can… You can come upstairs when you’re… done…”

Loki, who was trapped in a headlock by his older brother, nodded jerkily to you. “Of course, dear– Thor. You foul–”

You watched as your boyfriend transformed into a glossy black snake. He fell to the marble with a sad, wet slap and played dead, lolled tongue and all.

Luckily, your ice cream was mostly salvageable.

The shower was hot. Maybe a bit too hot. Steam cloyed, clouding your periphery and leaving you feeling flushed. You contemplated switching the tap a half an inch toward to the right, but then you risked overshooting and being too cold.

“I’m being called away,” Loki said by way of greeting. He was still a bit damp; his hair had just begun to curl around the ends. The steam, its attention caught by the open door, billowed around him on its escape path. “I was going to tell you earlier, but my brother had other plans.”

“Oh, that’s not fair. Close the door, please?”

“Right. Sorry.” The door slipped shut with a click. Loki hoisted himself onto your bathroom counter, his hands clasped loosely between his knees while he watched you rinse the last suds from your legs. “Believe me, darling, I don’t want to leave you, but it seems that Fury wants my head on a stake.”

“Thor, too. What was that about?”

Loki waved a hand. “Brotherly taunts. Now would you hurry up? I want to ravish you before I’m a decrepit, thank you very much.”

“Give me a minute.” You turned your back to him for a better angle under the shower head. You heard the shower door slide open – you assumed so that Loki could ogle you properly – then startled when his shadow crossed over you.

“Loki!” You shrieked, cringing when wet cotton slid over your belly as he wound his arms around your waist. “You’re fully dressed! You can’t– bad! Naughty!”

“I was already wet. Now I’m warm and wet.” He tsked, rubbing his cheek against the curve of your shoulder with an arrogance only a prince could muster. “I just couldn’t resist.”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Truthfully, pet, I don’t think I’ve ever felt less remorse in my life.” His wet fingers fumbled with the top button on his shirt. The plastic was slippery and the buttons small, so it took more than a few tries to get the first one out; by the time he had wrenched the third free, he was cursing. “Ok,” he said around a laugh. “Maybe I’m a little remorseful. But this is your fault, let it be known.”

“My fault?”

“Yes.” Two more buttons down. Loki growled, then tore the rest of them out with a firm jerk of the button placket. They scattered, bouncing off the tile with tiny sounds, and Loki struggled to pull the sleeves off his skin. “You’re so beguiling. I’m– I can hardly tear myself away.” He threw the shirt through the open shower doors, then considered his trousers. “Oh, nevermind.” With a flick of his wrist, the last of his clothing melted away. “Why do I even bother, honestly?”

You tipped your head back against the shower wall and hummed, enjoying the simple pleasure of Loki’s nearness. He was a vision under the spray, dark hair plastered and curling over pale skin and pink lips parted, glossy with water. When his fingers crept over your hip to tease the skin under your ribs, your chest soared, the hollow space between your lungs aching ice cold.

(You loved him).

(You promised yourself you would tell him when he returned from whatever mission Fury had assigned, come hell or high water - and you almost believed it.)

When you opened your eyes, you found Loki to be looking at you with the most peculiar hunger. “What?”

“I can’t look at you?”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘looking’. I would say you’re eating me with your eyes.” You rolled your shoulders, then reached around him for the tap. “I’m starting to feel a bit dizzy. Let’s dry off and you can tell me all about why Fury is taking you away from me.”

“You mean you let me suffer through that whole ordeal for naught?”

“I didn’t ask you to climb in here fully clothed. Now– chop chop, loverboy. You’re closest to the towels.”

He left in the early morning. It seemed to take a great deal of physical effort for him to extricate himself from your bed, even greater than it did on Sunday. By the time he had slipped into his last piece of armour, his breath was short and tense, and his mouth turned down in a harsh curve.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? You don’t seem yourself.”

“I’m fine. Just don’t… Just wait for me, okay?”

You were a couple seconds behind, your brain still heavy with the early hour. “What do you mean, honey?”

Loki shook his head. He leaned his weight on the edge of the bed and curled over you, pressing a dry kiss to your cheek. “Don’t worry yourself. Go back to bed.”

“I can help–”

“I have it all under control. I’ll be back in a few days.” He said the last part like he was trying to convince himself more than he was you.

Only three days later and you were going a little stir-crazy. Maybe whatever clinginess-disease he had had rubbed off on you.

You couldn’t take it anymore – you missed your boyfriend. He had been scheduled to return that morning but another impromptu snowstorm had pushed his arrival back by a day, leaving you with an empty afternoon to putter. But once your laundry was done and your shower scrubbed, there wasn’t much left to do besides twiddle your thumbs and marathon episodes of Forensic Files.

You took the elevator to his floor and let yourself in with a spare key. Your shoulders dropped, an unregistered tension draining as you breathed in the familiar smell of Loki’s cologne and lavender incense. There was a certain comfort in the menial reminders of him – his shoes by the door, his coat on the rack. You tossed your keys on the kitchen counter. “So much for man-eating wolves.”

You half expected his fridge to be barren, considering how much time he had spent over the last week in your apartment, but you were pleasantly surprised to find it well stocked – too well stocked. Whatever occasion he was preparing for was unknown to you, but he seemed to be anticipating an apocalypse or city-wide shortage of seasonal fruits and vegetables. You helped yourself to some from a pre-cut container and shuffled toward his bedroom to take a nap.

You stopped dead in your tracks under the threshold.

“You are the pillow thief.”

Fabric was draped languorously from every surface - a stack of quilts over his desk chair, pillowcases folded neatly on his dresser. The curtains were drawn tightly, two or three panels layered on top of each other to block out as much natural light as possible. He appeared to have gathered every pillow in his apartment - and a few of yours - and piled them in a semi-circle against the headboard. A few had fallen to the wayside, at the foot of the bed or scattered across the carpet, and a great spread of throw blankets was draped across the comforter. You could just make out the corner of one of your t-shirts peeking out from his pillows.

There was a decidedly two person-sized divot in the centre of it all, like you were meant to burrow in together.

“What have you been up to, my darling boy?”

You crawled across the covers and peeled them back, layer by layer. More of your shirts tumbled out, as well as a hoodie and a cashmere scarf. It was bewildering to say the least, but not entirely out of the norm for Loki. (He once spent two weeks meticulously replacing all of your cutlery with a mismatched charity shop set, so what was a little blanket theft, really?) You just couldn’t quite put your finger on why he had chosen this prank, nor why he would bother to build a veritable nest out of his spoils.

Tired and more than a little giggly, you tucked yourself between two comforters and curled up on your side. You’d have to ask him when he got home.

(In his defense, it was really comfy).

You blinked awake to the sound of your phone vibrating. It took you a moment to find it among the layers of blankets and pillows but eventually you wrenched it free and swiped accept. “Hello?”

Loki’s voice carried through the little speaker. “Where are you? You’re not in your apartment.”

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. “That’s because I’m in yours.”

There was a long, drawn out silence. Then, “you’re what?”

“I’m in your apartment. Which– you have so much explaining to do.” You pushed yourself out of his bed. Through the phone, you heard FRIDAY greet him and a familiar jingle when Loki punched the button for his floor.

“I… You weren’t supposed to see that.”

You laughed. You could hear him struggling to find his keys, his anxiety palpable even through the phone. “Loki, was this some sort of prank to keep me from refusing to sleep over?”

“No, it…” His keys ground in the lock. “It was…”

You pulled the door open for him. He blinked owlishly at you, his phone pinched between his shoulder and his cheek.

“Hi,” you said, and your voice echoed through his phone.

He ended the call. “Hi.”

The two of you walked together, Loki on tentative feet while you guided him, pulling on one of his harness straps until you were through the threshold. His bag slid from his shoulder with a thud; he was still wearing his armour, which you smoothed your fingers under and began to unclasp piece by piece, setting it on the table by the door.

“Loki,” you glanced up at him through your eyelashes. “Do you want to explain the nest in your bedroom?”

His shoulders tensed. “Thor, you bastard.”

You worked one of his leather straps free, tossing it aside. “What?”

“Just - ignore this,” he said. “Go back to your apartment. I have to go kill my brother, and then burn everything I own, and then maybe I’ll be able to scrounge up the dignity to see you before sunrise.”

He made an aborted movement to turn out from your arms, but you reached out with your mind and slid the deadbolt in place before he could slip through the door. “Nuh uh. What does Thor have to do with this? Is this about your fight? I haven’t spoken to him since I ran into you two in the hall.”

“Wait.” It was your turn to face Loki’s ire, it seemed, because he whirled on you, his finger raised accusingly. “How did you know about the nesting then?”

“I was joking.” You pulled the final knife sheath free, leaving him in his leather breastplate and heavy wool trousers. “I mean, you piled all of our collective pillows into a queen-sized bed. Do you mean to tell me you’re actually nesting? Is this another Asgardian courtship thing I should know about?”

“I-” Loki looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up whole. A familiar curl of self-consciousness had begun to spoil his expression. He turned his cheek and spit out a curse. “Nevermind.”

“Loki, please.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “If you tell me your secret, I’ll tell you one in return.”

If there was one thing Loki loved more than self-pity, it was being let in on a secret. His eyes bolted up from glaring a hole into the hardwood to catch yours, assessing your deal. “Do not make bets you cannot pay, darling.”

“I already have the perfect secret picked out. Explain.”

He watched you for a long time. Eventually, with a very careful, measured tone, he opened his mouth to speak. “I’ve never… Oh, this is humiliating.” Loki scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Asgardians know very little about Jotun customs. It’s… We didn’t have much need to study them, outside of battle. But it’s common knowledge that frost giants… mate for life. They pick someone to bond with and when they’re serious… In the spring… ”

“Loki,” you cooed. “Humor me.”

He groaned and slunk to his knees before you. His forehead pressed against your hip while both his hands curled around your calves to steady himself. He mumbled something unintelligible against your leg.

You ran your fingers through his hair. “What was that?”

Loki sighed. “When they find a suitable mate they try... I’m… My biology is trying to entice you to tie yourself to me. Forever.”

“So the nesting thing? And the um… the clinginess?”

He toyed with the edge of your t-shirt. “Yes. I… I get quite upset when you don’t respond favorably to my… advances .”

“I picked up on that. Wait,” you pinched the meat of his bicep. “Is this why you’re getting bigger?”

“It appears that my glamours are failing, yes.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re growing in some new plumage to woo me with?” You trailed your finger along a featherlight path over his jaw. Lowering your voice, you couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Are you going to sing for me next?”

A scowl twisted his expression into something mean. “You forget who you’re speaking to, mortal.”

His tone did nothing to dissuade you. So rarely were you the one with the power to tease and you intended to take advantage. “Anything else I should know?”

“Well, if I’m already speaking candidly…” It came out bitingly, Loki’s voice laced with a burning mix of self-deprecation and frustration. “I can hardly think about anything else other than bending you over every available piece of furniture and fucking you until one of us passes out.”

“Loki,” you warned as his fingers wormed their way under the waistband of your pants. “We’re finishing this conversation.”

“Later, darling.” He pushed them down an inch and pressed his mouth to your hip. “Let us at least enjoy my biology for a little while.”

“Loki.” The air crackled, seidr whispering across your skin where the two of you connected as he considered testing your resolve. You felt the phantom impression of hands around your wrists, which you shook off with a glare. “Down.”

His lip curled in displeasure but he obeyed, sitting back on his heels. “It’s infuriating. Let’s just pretend it’s not happening.”

You joined him on the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest. “What does it mean to… ‘mate’?”

Loki’s shoulders rounded and bowed; he tilted his face away from you, hiding his expression behind a wall of thick, black hair. “You just… are. You’re partners for life. A family. I’m not sure there are words in any mortal language to explain the breadth of it.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It seems my biology has decided that you’re a good match for… that.”

“Loki…”

“I love you.” He said it so plainly, as if he was commenting on the weather. Your heartbeat turned hot and dizzy as you watched his long fingers trace the floorboard, his words rattling around in the space between your ears – I love you, I love you, I love– “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re wearing my ring, and my knives, and my clothes. You smell like me–”

“Wait–”

“I built you a nest. I’m not human. Your priorities are in desperate need of reassessment if that’s the part you’re uncomfortable with.” Loki rolled his eyes, that bit of familiar petulance peeking through his foul mood. “Anyway. It makes sense that my body would choose you. That I would… would want to convince you...”

“You know you don’t have to convince me.”

Loki picked at a knot in the wood, a loathsome smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Oh, but I do.”

You couldn’t bear the distance any longer; you crawled the last couple of feet to wrap your arms around his chest. He tipped into you, pressing his cheek against your shoulder and drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. Yet, despite his pain, a part of you sang as you stroked a line down his cheek. You were loved and in love – what greater joy was there than that?

Not for the first time in your relationship, guilt welled up in your chest. Being in love with Loki felt a little like learning a new language; he was so capricious, so aloof, that you sometimes felt like you were left out of a joke when he teased you, or flirted, or sidled up to touch you. It often wasn’t until afterward that you became aware of the fact that he was being sincere, that his teasing was earnestness wrapped up in a barbed tongue.

His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt. You might not have always understood his advances, but you would try to. For him, you would always try.

“Is there some sort of ritual involved? Do I have to cover myself in runes or something?”

He shook his head against your chest. “I think it just… happens. I’m not sure. There are very few intricacies about frost giant habits with which I’m familiar. But based on how my body is responding, I would assume it boils down to ravishing you on every surface available to me.”

You hummed. “And what will happen if we ignore it?”

Loki, turned mute by anxiety, drew a line down your arm with his knuckle. Finally, he mumbled, “I’ll be fine. I’ll just be very… sad. For the next few days.”

“Sad?”

“I know logically that you’re not, but it feels… Like you’re rejecting me.”

“And how do you want me to respond?”

He sneered again and ducked his head, dragging a hand over his face frustratedly. “I want you to bare your throat to me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up inside of you. “What?”

The glare Loki shot you was bitterly cold. “Do not pretend that you misheard me.”

“No, no, Loki,” you reached out and twined your fingers together. “I mean, surely there’s more than that, right? You want me to do the same things for you? To- to nest? I’m not going to hunt a stag or something for you but I can definitely, like, go to the butcher and get you a prize cut.”

Loki shook his head. “I just want you to accept. To accept me .”

“And the throat…?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You ran your finger along the edge of your t-shirt, where it sat snugly against your collarbone, and watched his pupils dilate. Wordlessly you tugged on his hand, drawing it up to your neck, and placed it there loosely. “That’s it?”

His hand tightened, fingernails catching ever so gently against your skin. “You heard the part where I said that frost giants mate for life, yes?”

You nodded. “Mhmm.”

As if possessed, Loki leaned forward to nose at your pulse point. “So you understand that this… this is forever.”

“And ever and ever?”

“Brat.” His teeth scraped across your skin. “I’ve grown tired of this one-sided vulnerability. I believe you promised me a secret, pet.”

“I did.” You took a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

His fingers stilled around your throat. He seemed to not even breathe as he considered your confession. With a calculated effort, Loki peeled his hands off your neck and his voice, deep and rumbling with restraint, cut through the silence. “You should run.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Unless you want me to fuck you here on this cold, hard floor, I suggest that you run back to that pretty little nest I made you.”

A hot flush washed over you, starting in your cheeks and pooling in the pit of your belly. Loki leaned forward and sweetly kissed your collarbone, then reached up and tore your t-shirt down the middle.

“Loki!”

He smiled against your cheek. “I wasn’t joking, my love.” He sat back on his haunches and folded his hands in his lap, his gaze simmering with something molten hot. Though he moved slowly, projecting a characteristic aloofness, you could see the tendons in his neck straining as he worked against instinct to hold still. He grinned, all teeth, and jerked his chin toward his bedroom. “Run.”

You scrambled to your feet. The hardwood was slippery under your socks. You took a couple tentative steps backwards, watching the way Loki’s eyes raked over you like a butcher pulled pork. Your skin buzzed under his gaze as if you were standing under a powerline, electrified by a well of energy crackling overhead.

His control was crumbling by the second. The faucet was leaking– Tony had promised he’d have someone over within the week to fix it – and the water beading on its edge began to sizzle and pop, blinking out of existence in green bursts. The microwave display went black as Loki’s seidr overwhelmed the kitchen’s circuit breaker; the hum of the refrigerator died with it, plunging the room into an unnatural silence, so heavy that you could hear your own breath catching in your chest. Loki shifted his weight to his knees.

Your heart thrilled.

You broke in unison; you started to run at the same time that Loki sprang to his feet. A laugh bubbled up out of your chest; you reached out with your mind and swept the cushions off the couch, pelting Loki with them before he could reach you. He swore, and a tongue of emerald light crackled at your ankles, nearly tripping you. You stumbled but managed to make it over the threshold of his bedroom door. Something collided heavily with the wall behind you, followed by the sound of debris coming loose and littering the floor.

You landed with a bounce in the center of the bed, sending a cascade of pillows tumbling to the ground. Loki appeared moments later, breathing heavily and bracketing the door with his arms. He must have tripped during the chase; dust and bits of drywall covered his left arm. His irises had disappeared, carved to mere slivers by his blown pupils. Your breath caught in your chest when you noticed the line of his cock, hard and wanting, straining against his pants.

You shrugged out of your ruined shirt while Loki stalked across the small bedroom, still dressed for battle. He swatted a discarded pillow out of the air when you used your powers to raise it, then shredded another one in an eruption of light and feathers when you tried to catch him from behind. A low purr rumbled through him, melting into the hum of his seidr as it thrummed through the air.

Sensing he would tear through every scrap of fabric you managed to throw up between yourselves, you yielded slowly, tipping your chin back, drawing his attention to your throat.

Loki’s body hit the bed with a muffled thump. He crawled up the length of you on shaky limbs, pressing a grateful, sloppy kiss to your mouth before moving down to your pulse point. Burying his face there, Loki dropped his full weight on top of you. “You really should not indulge me. I might never let you leave.”

“I’ve always been terrible at saying no to you.”

He laved at a spot on your neck. His hips pinned yours against the mattress, shifting against you aimlessly as his arousal heightened. Experimentally, you pressed your leg into him; a groan tumbled from his mouth before he closed one hand around your thigh and rutted up a little more purposefully. “Love. My little love.”

Loki pushed up to his knees and pulled on the strap holding his breastplate in place. You sat up on one elbow and pinched your bra clasp with the other hand. It had only just come undone when Loki worked his hands under the band and tugged it off of you roughly. You tsked in retaliation, then pulled his armour over his head. Just as soon as it hit the floor, Loki was crawling backwards, sliding his hands down your thighs with a heavy reverence.

Your pyjama pants joined the scattered mix of armour and plainclothes on the floor. Now that you were completely bare, Loki slunk up to admire you, leaving a wet trail of kisses over your body until he reached the thin skin over your pulse. One of his hands pushed your knees apart to draw featherlight circles across your inner thighs.

You tugged on his hair, trying to convince him to lean up and kiss you properly. Loki grumbled but did not concede; his left hand slipped from between your legs and took your wrist, jamming it against the headboard before returning to run circles around your clit. When you pulled, you found your arm immobilized; a tangle of green light pinned it in place above your head.

“Rude,” you gasped. Loki smiled against your neck, dragging his chin through a trail of his own spit.

“Evil,” he agreed.

“Can you at least- at least take your pants off?”

The air shifted; when you glanced down, you were pleased to find that Loki had magically done away with the rest of his clothing, giving you an unobstructed view of his lithe body. You hummed, satisfied, and slid your free hand down his back to palm his ass.

Loki lazily drew his middle two fingers up and down your slit, toying with you in a display of casual dominance. Occasionally he would dip into you, pressing only far enough to leave you wanting before retreating to trace an intricate pattern of knots between your thighs. Despite the hard weight of him, nestled in the cradle of your hips and burning hot with desire, he seemed determined to take his time tangling with you. You rocked your hips, seeking some sort of pressure or friction, and were met with a haughty grin against your breast instead.

You babbled. You begged. The fingers between your thighs patronized you, pressing but never breaching, circling but never stroking.

Finally, though you suspected it was due to his own neediness and not the way you were pleading, he raised his head to kiss you, sliding his tongue, hot and possessive, over yours. Between the teasing pressure at your cunt and the burning weight of his cock against your hip, a desperation paced in the space between your ribs that left you aching, left you wanting. You tugged a little more firmly at your restraint. When that didn’t budge, you worked your free hand under him to run your fingers up and down the underside of his cock.

The bedside lamp buzzed and flared. Loki nipped at your bottom lip. “I’ll take away your other hand if I have to.”

And yet, despite his warning, Loki slid his fingers inside of you, a little deeper, curling slightly, and pressed at that soft spot you needed him to touch. A smug curl of delight rose in your belly, that you could make him so docile with a touch. You closed your hand around his cock and pumped him slowly, testing your sway.

“Pet,” he pleaded. “Just let me take my time with you.”

You bit back a sigh when he sat up, blinking wide cow-eyes down at you with an expression bordering on insecurity. “Please, Loki. My love.”

He choked out a whine. His eyes shut tightly for a heartbeat, eyebrows creased deeply in the middle. Your hand slipped free from the headboard – victory – but before you could really enjoy your freedom, Loki flipped you over on all fours.

“If all it took to domesticate you was a four letter word, I would have said something sooner.” One of his hands came down in a warning tap against the side of your thigh. You gasped out a laugh, turning your cheek to catch a glimpse of him. His fingers were splayed over his eyes, partially obscured by his wild hair, and his mouth had turned up in a grin, his usual cool demeanour betrayed by a giddy kind of anticipation. You pressed back against him. “Is this the part where you fuck me?”

He tugged you upwards, manhandling you onto your knees in front of him. You felt his chest mould to your back as he shuffled closer to slot his cock between your thighs, tauntingly, sliding through slick, heated skin, his cockhead bumping against your clit with every pass when his hips met the plush of your ass. “Oh, I’m not going to fuck you, darling.”

You reached between your legs to guide him inside you, but Loki snatched your hand by the wrist and held it there, so his cock glided just along your fingertips, occasionally catching at your entrance only to pull away at the last second.

“I’m going to lay claim to you. I’m going to breed you,” he panted against the shell of your ear. Your thighs clenched tight when Loki pressed the heel of your hand against the lip of your mound, applying pressure to your aching clit. “I’m going to ply you until you are limp and then I’m going to fill you until you are dripping, understand? I’m going to mark you so thoroughly that you will never be rid of me.”

He pressed even harder, rolling your hand by the wrist. His eyelashes brushed the heated skin of your cheek as he pressed his face to yours, drinking in the closeness of your body. “And when all is said and we’re sated, I’ll make love to you. And that’s a promise.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. You whimpered, your back arching into him while he worked you higher and higher. Loki murmured praise against your skin. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

He smiled against your shoulder. “Excellent.”

One of his arms hooked under your breasts, holding you up and flush against his chest. The other tilted your hips back, so you were nearly sat in his lap.

“Can you…” Loki huffed out a laugh against your skin. In a small voice he asked, “Tell me you love me again?”

There was no universe where you could deny him that. “I love you. Loki, I love you. Loki–”

Your eyes squeezed shut as he fed you his cock, inch by delicious inch, until you were fully seated against him. He swore, then growled out another stuttering laugh. A hot breath washed over the shell of your ear as he tucked his chin against your shoulder, and an experimental roll of his hips had you jolting in his arms, your toes curling when he slid over that spongy, sensitive spot inside of you.

“God,” you gasped.

He hummed in agreement, slipping his free hand between your legs to apply a firm pressure to your clit. His head rolled against your shoulder as he started a slow, teasing pace. “Pretty thing,” he cooed.

You felt his eyebrows furrow against your back. His mouth dropped open, panting hot air across your shoulder blades. Your hands shook, fisting in the bedsheets; you felt tears well behind your eyes as sensations overwhelmed you, a bit of pleasure and a bit of pain. You choked out a moan, a gasp, his name cut short.

“Loki. Please. I can’t.”

“You can,” he said against your shoulder. The hand between your legs grew a little desperate, sliding in tight circles while the rest of him worked you at his mercy up and down his cock. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you? My pretty little mate,” he continued. “You are, I know you are. You’re going to come for me, and then you’re going to take what I have to give you. You’re going to let your mate fill that little cunt of yours and you’re going to be grateful, hmm?”

You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut. You were teetering on the edge of a knife, a knot in your belly drawn tight but threatening to unravel at any moment. A gasp tore from your chest when Loki changed angles, pulling you down with more force while leveraging his body weight to thrust into your harder. Your head tipped back onto his shoulder and you squealed, one hand flying behind you to anchor yourself against his hip.

“Yes,” Loki gasped. “Yes, that’s it darling.”

Relief washed over you for a heartbeat, a small coil shattered as Loki worked himself into you. You rocked back against him, writhing in his iron grip. The pressure on your clit eased away for a moment before doubling down, his middle two fingers burning molten pleasure in their wake as seidr sparked over your skin from his fingertips. Chasing relief in your body, he mouthed at your shoulder a little mindlessly. Your name tumbled from his lips, a plea, for what you weren’t sure.

Small sounds were punched out of your chest with every thrust, growing in volume as he went on and your body buzzed with overstimulation.

“Please,” you begged. One of your hands curled around his forearm, gripping him tightly, while the other fisted in one of the long-forgotten pillows. “Please. Please, Loki.”

Your legs clamped shut when your orgasm finally crested. Loki swore, tumbling, stuttering to his own edge before plummeting; he tugged you down and held you there, spilling inside you with a shaky groan.

Finally, he lifted you off his lap and slid out of you. You tried to turn over in his arms, but he tipped the two of you onto your sides and held you in an iron grip against his chest. He mumbled something foreign in your ear, intercut by the occasional sigh or a press of his mouth to your sweat-slick skin.

You tried again to turn around but Loki held you still. “Give me a minute,” he panted.

You squirmed. “But I want to kiss you.”

Loki leaned over your shoulder and kissed you, his eyes squeezed shut. Hardly satisfied, you tried to hold him in place, but your exhausted limbs were no match for him; he slunk back out of sight only a moment later.

“Loki,” you whined. His arms tightened.

“I’m not… myself right now.”

Slowly, you rolled over in his arms to face him and soothed your hands up his chest. An attractive flush coloured his pale skin, spreading from the top of his stomach to the highest points of his cheeks. You picked a flake of drywall out of his hair.

His eyes were downcast, shuttered and turned away so you couldn’t see into them. “I don’t want to frighten you,” he mumbled.

You tilted his face up; his eyes had changed, the irises gone red. They weren’t quite gemstones, or cherries, or robins or cardinals. The same red as poppies, maybe. Startling against his pale skin, framed by thick, dark lashes, but so deeply endearing, swimming with emotion as they flickered back and forth over your face.

You must have been quiet too long; Loki huffed and buried his face in his pillow.

“No, wait,” you said. “Come back. Let me look at you.”

“No. I can’t bear it.”

“Stop being dramatic. Let me look at my pretty boyfriend.”

“Your pretty boyfriend is out of commission, I’m afraid.” His voice was muffled. He patted the bed until he found the comforter, which he then pulled over his head petulantly. “He can’t seem to control himself right now. He’ll come out later.”

You wormed your hands under the blanket and pulled it back from his face. Loki sighed and peered up at you from behind his pillow, his eyes barely open to slits to glare at you. You pushed a curl off his forehead, followed by a dry kiss to his cheek. “You know your eyes change colour all the time, right?”

“But the green is handsome. Intimidating,” he grumbled. “This is…”

“Gorgeous.”

“Horrifying,” he countered.

You pouted. “That’s my mate you’re talking about.”

That seemed to break the spell he’d fallen under. You felt the gentle brush of his fingers first, then the smooth slide of his hand down your side to hook around your hip. He drew you into his chest so he could press a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “Hi.”

You returned his smile. “Hi.”

“You’re really not afraid?”

You pushed a stray pillow off the bed, trying and failing to extricate one of the blankets to drape over your bodies. Loki had been right about one thing - it was freakishly cold this week, and the chill was beginning to needle your sweat-damp skin unpleasantly. “Honestly, I’m more worried about the food in your freezer going bad. You blew a fuse in there.”

“Midgardians. You have no sense of self-preservation.” Loki reached out to help tuck you in.

“Mhm… Coming from the guy whose favourite schtick is ‘pretend to grovel until you think up a better plan’.”

“That is, by definition, self-preserving.”

“Whatever. You blew a fuse. And maybe fixed the leak?”

“I also punched a hole through the wall.”

“Tony is gonna be so mad at you.” You scraped your fingernails across Loki’s scalp, drawing a deep rumble from his chest. “Ok, five more minutes and then we need to get cleaned up.”

“I think you’re mistaken, pet. We’re not leaving this bed for the rest of the week.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not risking a UTI for that.”

Loki groaned. He pulled his mouth from your neck just long enough to kiss you. “Fine. Shower?”

“Yes, but we’re just showering. I don’t want to get waterboarded like last time.”

“Of course, darling. Not in the shower.” He kissed you again, slowly this time, coaxing your lips apart with a thumb on your jaw. When he finally pulled away it was with a hiss and a sticky, wet sound. “Although I do intend to bend you over the sink so you can watch yourself fall apart first.”

“Oh?”

His red eyes found yours. They narrowed, sparkling with mirth, as he gathered you up in his arms. “Tell me again,” he purred, “how much you love me. I might just have mercy.”

You did.

He didn’t.

Not that you minded.

#loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki smut #loki x you #loki fanfic #loki x female reader

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writemekpop · 16 days

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Make Up Sex | Lee Jeno

Summary: You've been hiding a big secret from your husband Jeno. What happens when he finds out?

Genre: Established relationship AU, angsty, suggestive, baby daddy Jeno

Word Count: 1k

A/n: We're baaaaaack! We're sorry it's been a while, so here have some juicy Jeno baby daddy angst xx requests are open!

It was past midnight when you got home from work. You felt terrible for missing Mac's bedtime for the fifth time this week.

Right now, all you wanted was to curl up in bed next to your husband Jeno and sleep for a year.

You tiptoed into the living room and set your bag down on the sofa. You flicked on the light, and saw Jeno sat at the dining table.

You yelped. "Jeno, what were you doing sitting in the dark?"

Jeno didn't reply. That's when you realised something was off with him. He was sat bolt upright, jaw clenched, hands balled up into fists.

Even though he was sat there in his blue polkadot pyjamas, he looked threatening. His dark hair framed his frown.

You edged closer. "What's the matter?"

Then you saw the bunch of folded letters in his hand. Your heart dropped into your stomach.

"Jeno, I can explain..."

Jeno met your eyes for the first time. His brown eyes were ice cold.

"When were you going to tell me about this?" He spat.

You pulled out the chair next to Jeno and sat down. You put your arm on his shoulder, but he flinched away from your touch.

Jeno shoved a piece of paper into your hands. "This is an offer letter for a job in Argentina."

You gulped.

Jeno flipped through the other letters. "It says here you applied six times." He said. "You applied for a job on the other side of the world six times and you didn't think to tell me about it once?"

You couldn't tell if Jeno looked more angry or just hurt.

"I was going to tell you..."

Jeno scoffed. "When? From the plane? Or were you just going to call me from... Rio or whatever the fuck the capital of Argentina is."

"I didn't think I'd actually get in..."

Jeno rolled his eyes.

You frowned. "You know, this is actually a really big deal. This is one of the most prestigious jobs in the world for a conservation biologist. Why can't you just be proud of me?"

Jeno stood up, the chair screaming against the wooden floor. He bowed dramatically.

"Congratulations, Y/n."

Tears pricked your eyes. "You don't have to be sarcastic."

Jeno stormed out of the living room, slamming the door.

You winced, tiptoeing behind him. "Shh, you'll wake Mac!" You eyed the door to the nursery, which was ajar.

"So now you remember we have a son! Are you just going to deprive your toddler of his mother for a whole year?"

"It's actually a two year programme..." you said, eyeing the carpet.

Jeno tugged his hand through his hair. "Well that's just perfect."

You followed Jeno into the bedroom.

"You know, Y/n. Normal people have affairs. They don't sneak off behind their partner's back and get a job a thousand miles away."

You slumped onto the bed, sighing. "Jeno, I just feel like I'm wasting away at my current job. I know I was made for some thing bigger. The project I'll be working on is to create an entirely new source of green energy. We could change the world."

Jeno sat down beside you on the bed. "I didn't know you hated your job."

You edged closer to Jeno, closing the gap between you and him on the bed. You tentatively touched his arm. He didn't push you away this time.

You traced your fingers up his biceps, across his neck and settled on his cheek. Jeno shut his eyes and leaned his face into your hand.

You looked as his dark eyelashes, and his plump lips. You just wanted to kiss his pain away.

Jeno kept his eyes squeezed shut as he spoke. "To me, you and Mac are my whole world. Are we not enough for you?" His voice cracked. "Am I not enough for you?"

You gulped. You knew what the answer was, but somehow, the words wouldn't come out.

You held Jeno's face in your hands. Then you leaned forwards and kissed him, hard.

Jeno grunted in surprise, but he quickly started to kiss you back. His large hands found your waist, and he pulled you onto his lap, so that you were straddling him.

You drank up Jeno's taste, the faint peach scent of his shampoo, the feel of his hard body underneath you.

You broke the kiss for a second, and pullled your shirt off. You unclasped your bra. The look in your husband's eyes was close to feral.

You were used to slow and gentle love making, with lots of soft smiles and giggles. This was completely different. Your entire body felt alight.

Jeno yanked off his own top. You eyed his muscled body, mouth watering. He picked you up in one arm and dropped you on the centre of the bed. He lay himself on top of you.

You kissed his neck whilst he took off the rest of your clothes.

Jeno dived between your legs, making you gasp.

After, you lay with your head on Jeno's chest. You were both still naked. The rhythmic thumping of Jeno's heart calmed your haywire nerves.

After a while of comfortable silence, Jeno cleared his throat.

"We're going to have to get Mac some sunglasses, for when we come down to visit. I hear it's pretty sunny in Argentina."

You shot up and turned to look at Jeno. His dark fringe was coveirng his eyes, and his cheeks were flushed.

"You're okay with me going?" You exclaimed.

Jeno sat up too. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a hug.

"You should have told me sooner," Jeno said. "But... of course I'm happy for you. I always knew you were going to change the world. I'm sorry about how I reacted."

You couldn't stop the tears from falling down your cheeks. You buried your head in his shoulder and cried.

"I love you," you said, between sobs. "I'm sorry for keeping this from you."

Jeno wiped your tears away with his thumbs. He smiled. "Has anyone told you you're an ugly crier?"

You snorted. Jeno started to laugh, which made you laugh too. The tension in the room melted away, leaving only love.

You ran a finger down the centre of Jeno's chest, making him shudder with pleasure.

Jeno pulled the blanket over you both. "Two years isn't that long, when you think about it. Not when we've got forever."

"You helpless romantic, you..."

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

—

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sweetimpurity · 5 months

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I Think I'll Keep You 3

Notes: Thank you for your patience and your kindness! I've been finishing school and I'm graduating next week so I'm BUSY! But I love you guys and I hope you enjoy! I recommend rereading the last section of Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 next chapter>>

w.c. 8k. rated p for plot

Miguel storms back to his dorm, across campus, clutching his jacket around his bare torso. Feeling like an absolute idiot for losing his cool. Losing control. What is it about you that makes him act this way?

It’s like you’re trying to knock down the walls he’s built around himself all his life. Running to his building as rain starts to sprinkle, he makes it to the lobby, rushing around, pacing in the elevator getting up to his floor, his mind on total lockdown. As the doors open, he steps out, eyes widening, heart thumping, instantly seeing Peter and a few other teammates down the hall walking his way. Before another thought crosses his mind and before they can spot him, he steps back into the elevator as the doors are closing, slamming on the buttons for the lobby. His heart beating out of his chest.

It’s starting to pour by the time he gets back downstairs, racing out before anyone he knows will see him. He’s sure they’ll get a bloody nose if anyone tries talking to him now. He keeps his head down, pushing through the doors outside and walking in the freezing rain, running at a certain point, crossing the courtyard and running to the other side of campus towards the athletic building. His Nikes splash in shallow puddles along the uneven parking lot, his dark eyes squinting as rain pelts down from above. His long legs bring him closer to the doors, closer to sanctuary, out of the freezing rain. Soaking his jacket, his hair, dripping down the bridge of his nose, fluttering in his eyelashes.

He pushes through the doors, sighing audibly in a mixture of relief and annoyance and realizing how fast he was running. He pushes through the next set of doors, walking down the dark hallways of the building. Sneakers squeaking softly on the linoleum as he reaches the team's locker room door. Rain drips down from the curls that flopped onto his forehead and down the nape of his neck. Droplets glistening off his cheeks and his nose as he flicks on one of the locker room lights. He has no idea why he came here. Maybe it’s just the only place no one else is.

He runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back from the cold rain, a few stray hairs springing out around his face. His mind flashes with images of you. Your smile, the pink tint of your lips, the peachy soft roundness of your cheek. His breath is heavy and his cheeks flushed from the cold. He gets to his locker, figuring maybe he should just… just do anything… 27… his fingers slip over the lock as rain drips from his curls… he could run around the field until he passes out…15… the color of your eyes… he could work on those drills he just gave the team the other day…10… the joint of your hip… the team does have a big game coming up this weekend… the lock won’t unlock… 27… the crook of your neck… he could go back to his dorm and work on that grant proposal he’s been needing to start…15…he could go to the lab and keep working on his thesis project… your gasping whispers of his name… 10… he could go to you right this second and tell you he’s sorry… 27… maybe that would make things better…15… the sound of your whimpers… the pitch of your moans… he could kick a ball around until it fucking pops… holding you close as you come down… 10!!... kissing you as you’re trembling… Why won’t the lock unlock? “Fucking unlock!!” He bellows and tugs on the lock in anger. His anger is blinding, numbing, controlling… his fist slams into the front of his locker. The bang of impact ringing throughout the empty locker room.

Instant pain shoots up his arm but he doesn’t care. He hits the locker again… and then again… and a few more times until the pain is too much to bear. Bang. Bang. BANG! Until his knuckles are worn raw. Punching, beating, denting the big “C” painted on the front of his locker. Captain. Leader. But he feels like a fucking loser. Punch, punch, PUNCH! Until he can’t anymore. “Ah… fuck!” He grunts and clutches his hand. Knuckles busted and fingers tingling hot and numb. “Fuck fuck ah… ngh…” He winces and groans in pain. “Shit…” He sighs and slumps his shoulder against the lockers. His hand throbbing and searing, clutching his hand to his chest in pain. His head rests against his locker, and he can feel the dents from the punches against his arm. Squeezing his eyes shut in pain and trying to stop the tears. Clutching his right hand and beating himself up in his head for being such a baby… for freaking out… for having feelings like this. Even when he’s alone, he won’t let himself cry over this.

“Ah…” He winces, looking down at his hand, trying to move his fingers but the instant swelling makes it practically impossible. Hissing softly at the pressure and pain between his knuckles.

Maybe this was necessary. Maybe this was the only way he’d slow the fuck down for one second to get his head on straight. He’s standing there and going over the events of tonight in his head. All that shit with Dana… then seeing you, kissing you, touching you… leaving because he couldn’t bear to listen to what you were saying. It was too much. It was too real. And the kind of conversation he actively tries to avoid. He can hardly remember what you said, it all feels like a blur right now. He can’t even remember what he said right now either. Probably some douchey stuff. “Ow, fuck…” He sighs and winces, holding his hand close to his chest.

He sits in silence only when he catches his breath enough to suppress the sounds of pure agonizing pain. He feels embarrassed. He thinks you probably hate him now too. You must. How could you not after the shitty things he said. Sighing, he sits down on the bench in the middle of the locker room. His hair still dripping down the back of his neck uncomfortably.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He thinks to himself. Watching the purple bloom over his fingers and feeling the searing hot pain.

Why did I just do that? Freak out. Is it because he knew what you were about to say? That you… you might be in love with him? After all the needy nights, the sneaky meetups and the lazy mornings, why is he so afraid? He can’t help but think of one specific morning... a week before you'd left… after a long night entangled in the sheets.

“You’re so warm…” You had said. Wrapped in his arms after sleeping beside him all night long. Naked and soft in his thick arms. His chest pressed against your back, his head resting in the crook of your neck. He smiled softly to himself, wrapping his arms a little tighter around you. He wanted you to feel warm. He wanted to be the one to warm you.

“You’re so soft…” He hummed into your neck. Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You smiled, feeling so wanted, so safe and secure. No one had ever made you feel this way. And Miguel just kept doing it. When you were in his bed, he was always holding you. Always touching you. The sex was usually rough and desperate, and that was good… that was… incredible. But there was something about seeing him like this. Soft and quiet with all his attention on you. You were just dreaming of the day that these hookups would turn into something more. Trying to be patient but feeling like it would happen very soon.

“That tickles…” You whispered, squirming in his grasp as his breath and his lips tickled your neck. “Shhh…” He shushed you ever so softly, encasing you tighter in his arms and grazing his lips all around your neck and your shoulder. Knowing it’s tickling you, that it’s making you squirm. “Hah…” A soft puff of tense air left your lips at the feeling, unable to resist the urge to squirm and escape his tantilizing torture. “So sensitive…” He whispered, his hand coming up to softly grasp your throat, his lips moving up the side of your cheek before going back into the dip of your neck, biting down softly. You’d never experienced something so intimate, so romantic. You just closed your eyes, accepting everything he’s giving as you usually do. Except right now it feels like he’s giving it just to you. It’s for only you to have. His arm that’s under you wrapped around, his fingers teasingly tracing down your hip.

“Hey, don’t start anything. We both have class soon…” You said with a smile and he nipped at your shoulder. “Mm.” He grumbled defiantly into your neck, breathing in your scent, your shampoo mixed with the sweet smell of your skin. When was he not trying to start something? To fill you up and keep you in his bed all day after having you all night. “You’re not making me late to class again…” You said softly, still smiling as warmth spread over your cheeks. He smiled as you brought that up again. You just couldn’t seem to let that go. “It was one time…” He hummed playfully. “One too many…” You said with a sort of mischievous smile. “One too many…” He echoed your words in a breathy laugh, scoffing at your teasing. His voice is deep with sleep, fingers brushing down your chest, against your soft plush tummy and to your side, his fingertips pressing pleasantly to the little love-handles at your back, up to your shoulder blades and down your arm, his fingers encasing the back of your hand, so gentle, so soft. You’re still crushing on him hard except this time around he’s fucking you like he owns you and holding you like he made you. He sighed against your neck.

“You know what’s better than being late?... Staying in bed…” He said all smugly. “You know what’s actually better than being late?... Being on time…” You retorted back and he laughed softly. He can play this game. “You know what’s better than being on time?...... Staying in bed.” He repeated and it made you laugh. “You already said that one!” You pouted, feeling the vibrations of his laughter against your back. “You know what’s better than staying in bed?... Going to class…” You said quick and giggled. It didn’t really mean anything anymore but it was fun and you wanted to win this back and forth. “No way, that’s undeniably incorrect.” He smiled, leaning up on his elbow to look more at your face as you were laughing. You looked so cute. He just couldn’t resist. “You know what’s better than going to class?” He asked and you turned back a bit to look in his eyes. “What.” You brow raised knowing he was about to say something stupid. He really wanted you to stay in bed. He smirked. “Sex with me…” It made you roll your eyes when he said it. You should have known. He smiled and moved to climb more on top of you, looking down right into your eyes. The blush that washed over your cheeks and the way you tried to look so unimpressed. “You know what’s better than sex with me?” He whispered. Was there such a thing? “Sex with you.”

You looked up into his eyes. The tension got thicker the longer he just looked at you. Your eyes rolled again, trying not to break out into a big smile. He said it so easily. Before you could even form another thought his lips were on yours. His hand coming to your cheek, fingers soft upon your face. He kept it quick, knowing you actually didn’t want to be late for class. He was only teasing. But he kissed you again… and then again. Soft pecks. That kiss he kept doing. Like his lips couldn’t stop coming back for more. Your eyes fluttered open when you realized he’s not stopping. “Mm!” You hummed, pressing softly against his shoulder and he finally relented, pecking your cheek before getting off of you. Chuckling and laying beside you on his stomach, hooking his arm under the cold side of his pillow.

Your phone buzzed on his bedside table. Catching both of your attention. You picked it up, opening it for the first time this morning. He watched over your shoulder as you unlocked the phone and went to your messages. He tried not to look too much. He did glance at the screen a few times. A certain tension building inside him. Wondering who could be texting you. He wanted to ask, or just outright look at who was texting you but he didn’t want to seem like he cared. His dark eyes flicked to the side of your face, the wisps of hair around your ear and your hairline fanning to your cheek, the slight blush from sleep and his flustering touch. The thought of anyone else seeing you like this, being with you like this…. It made him want to kill any guy who so much as looked your way. Or texted you first thing in the morning…

“My mom is just… driving me crazy…” You sighed and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Your mom?” He managed to say, physically feeling himself relax finding it was just your mother texting you. The knot in his chest unraveling. He remembered you talking about some plans to go home for the weekend. A family reunion type of thing.

“Yeah she’s… I love her but she gets sort of… crazy when it comes to plans…” You said and sent one last text before setting your phone back on the bedside table. “Well she just probably wants to see you…” He said and it brought a smile to your face. “Yeah… I just feel bad when she tries to take care of everything...” You said softly. Thinking of your mom, the kind of brave and determined woman she’s always been. “I told her, I don’t need anything fancy, I just need to see her and dad and my siblings and that’s it. And we have all the time in the world once I’m there. I mean… until it’s time to come back to school obviously…”

“Yeah…” He said softly, but it sounded like his mind was somewhere else.

You have a large family. Lots of siblings. And Miguel doesn’t have that. He has one brother of course but he doesn’t even speak to his parents unless he needs to. It was interesting for him to hear about the conversation with your mom and your relationship with her. How you always spoke of your family with such love and tenderness. He’s never experienced anything like that in his life.

“You have such a…big family.” He said softly. You couldn’t really tell with what tone he was saying it. Whether it was simply an observation, a judgment, or some sort of longing. “I do…” You sighed with a smile. You are the oldest of six which Miguel was flabbergasted to learn. “It’s not something I expected, but once you told me, it made sense.” He stated. And you couldn’t help but be curious as to why he thought that. You turned over on your side to face him more, his eyes meeting yours and the look on his face was a little surprised like you caught him off guard turning around like that. Making a direct connection with him. “Made sense, how?” You asked with a smile, curious about how he sees you. His face felt hot. The way it got hot a lot when you looked at him like that. Like his body knew something his brain didn’t. So he tried to explain while he feels like the wind is being knocked out of him. “Well… you… are very…” He starts and you’re expecting him to say what a lot of people say. That you’re dependable, you’re mature, you’re independent, helpful, capable. Because that’s how everybody has always seen you. Like anytime anyone looks at you, they’re trying to get you to help them in some way. “…patient.” He said. And you’ve never heard that one before. You smiled softly at him and he felt relieved. “Five siblings, I mean you’ve got to be patient, right?” He said and smiled, trying to make it all just a light joke, looking around a bit and away from the way you’re gazing in his eyes. But what he said was pretty profound. Tells you he’d thought about you and the kind of person you are. He’d thought about more than just sex with you. You looked in his eyes, a smile dancing on your lips. It distracted him a bit.

“How does that make you feel?” You suddenly asked him. “What.” He asked, not knowing really how to answer a question like that. “How does my patience make you feel?” You reiterated slowly, looking right in his eyes like you’re staring right into his mind. He thought, getting distracted by that look on your face. The look that for some reason let him know whatever answer he gave you would never be the wrong one.

“It…makes me…feel….”

“Fuck.” He sighs, the memory dissolving in his mind as he shoves it away. How could he be so stupid? Why did he say that kind of stuff to you? It’s like he doesn’t even remember that being him. Like he’s looking at someone else’s memory with you. He becomes someone else when he’s with you. But you looked so happy and he remembers how warm and soft you were. Holding his swollen, mangled hand, he winces at the pain still throbbing. It’s not getting any better, it’s only getting worse.

It’s radio silence for the next few days. Midterms come and over the week you’re finishing up exams and tutoring students to do well. More students than ever are taking advantage of the tutoring program that you basically resurrected from the dead. So that’s a good feeling at least. You’ve been spending basically all your time in the library, both doing your own work and meeting with any students that need help. And just hanging out with a few tutoring friends. There are some new tutors that just joined the club a few weeks ago and it’s made this whole thing much more fun, hanging out with people that are like minded in that way. Wanting to help other people.

You haven't heard from Miguel. You don’t know what became of him on Sunday night. And he didn’t reach out or anything on Monday to talk. Discuss what happened. Will you ever talk to him again? Or do you have to pretend none of this ever happened and he never existed in the first place. Your Sunday night heartbreak turns into Monday numb and Tuesday rage. Now it’s Thursday and you’ve thought of all the things you’d say to him if he showed his face again. But deep down you know it’s only the kind of thing you’d never be able to say. Like scripting the perfect comebacks in the shower and kicking yourself for not thinking to say it in the moment.

It’s hard not talking to him. Not seeing him basically everyday. Because before this past weekend you were seeing him every second you both had to spare. You’re mad at him but you miss waking up in his arms. You miss the late night texts, him wanting you, coming to you and making you feel things you’ve never felt before. Maybe you’re delusional. Was that all this was? Sex and pillowtalk? After what he said Sunday night it seems that way and he made you feel bad for ever thinking otherwise. You’re not stupid, you know that friends with benefits exist and fuckbuddies are such a common thing. And you didn’t even need to be his friend if he really didn’t want you to be! There was never even a need for some conversation about labels because to you it just seemed so obvious! No one could fake that desperation and need. That wanting passion you both shared. The things he said as you gave him everything. Your body, your thoughts, your heart. His whispers of wanting you and how good you make him feel.

Of course he felt good. He was fucking you raw almost every night and you let him because you’d fallen in love with him. But were you even friends to begin with? Did he see you as anything more than a body to do whatever he wanted with? You thought he wanted you. You were his. He told you that.

This week has been hell but you push forward. Trying not to isolate yourself and staying in touch with some tutoring friends. Unfortunately, Miguel is so popular that you always find yourself running into his friends too. But you’re realizing more and more that no one knows about you. It’s like Miguel didn’t want anyone to know he was with you. Not even his closest friends.

You’re sitting in the library for a tutoring session. Last minute cramming before the last exams later that day. Typing on your laptop, a student at your side and helping him on a calculus study guide. Elbow leaning on the table, watching him work, checking what he’s doing as he’s doing it. “Simplify it first, then use the formula…” You say softly and he does as you say, erasing some and correcting himself. “And then just the same on the next one?” He asks and you nod. Patient. That word is in your mind. Remembering when he said it. You were a little too patient with Miguel.

Miguel’s watching all of this happen. Standing behind the library door, hidden mostly and only peering in through the window in the door. He finally caught up to you after days of trying to get to you. He tried multiple times to catch you in the library this week but he always missed you. Every night he debated texting you but ultimately decided he wanted you to text him first. Mostly because he had no idea what to say. He just wanted you back. For things to go back to the way they were. He’s pissed himself off. In his mind it’s like he’s convinced himself you don’t want to talk to him.

The library is mostly empty except for you and your tutee. He wants to get you alone right now but doubts he can. Especially when you’re in the middle of doing something. But what you’re doing can’t be as important as what he needs to say to you. As important as him. His hand is aching badly as it has all week since Sunday night. Hidden in his pocket. He hasn’t done anything about it. He’s been taking ibuprofen but it’s not doing much.

If he has to wait hours to talk to you, then so be it. He won’t let this go on any longer. You’re going to talk to him whether you have anything to say or not. Somehow he’s managed to turn his desperation into anger. He leans against the wall outside the library door. Staring at the pattern on the floor. Fidgeting with the seam inside his jacket pocket. Sighing deeply, he feels uneasy thinking about what he’s going to say to you. What you might say to him. He’s got to act tough so he doesn’t lose control of the conversation. If he does he’s sure he’ll lose you. Because he knows deep down that he’s the asshole here. It’s his fault. And he’s scared to beg you for another chance.

These feelings are foreign to him. Never before has he acted this way over someone and he doesn’t know why. Is there something wrong with me? He thinks. That always seems to be his first thought. A while goes by and his mind swirls with thoughts of you.

He’s lost in thought and only glances up as he hears the doors at the end of the hall swinging closed. Someone must have walked by him. He pushes off the wall, instantly going to the window in the library door and seeing you’re finally alone. His heart thumps in his chest. Clenching his swollen bruised hand in his pocket. He sighs and forces himself to walk inside.

He gets halfway to you before you suddenly look up. Stopping him in his tracks. And it’s like he suddenly feels like he’s doing something wrong. Eyes locked and breath caught in both your chests.

It’s been four fucking days. Not a call, not a text. Nothing. And now he’s here. You look away first. Back down to your laptop to continue typing. And he continues walking, stopping at the edge of the table across from you.

It’s silent. Not a word dared spoken until…

“I need to talk to you.” The tall man finally speaks, towering over the table. Silence follows as you think about how to go about this. You thought about this moment all week. All the different scenarios and possibilities. You imagined melting into his arms as you’ve done a million times by now. But thinking back to all those moments it’s like none of that ever mattered because it didn’t matter to him. How can you trust him again when he treated you like he wanted you and then told you, you were never supposed to happen. After he finally spoke, it lit a fire inside you. “I’m busy right now.” You say softly, keeping your eyes locked on your laptop screen. While this time away from him has been hell and you’ve been heartbroken over this, he’s also been a total dick. You don’t want to let him get away with it. You don’t know how you’re going to do that but you try not to bend completely to his will. Your attention is directed back to your keyboard, typing away and ignoring him. All those comebacks are stuck in your throat. Miguel frowns, watching you.

He’s been trying all week to find you. To talk to you. Trying to find sneaky ways so that he doesn't have to beg for your attention. And now seeing you ignore him. He wants your attention and he’s gonna get it.

After a few beats of heavy silence, he walks around the table. You don’t look up, not even sparing him a glance. Glaring at your laptop screen and seeing his movement in your peripherals. He silently walks to the seat right next to you. Pulling it out and slipping down into it to sit beside you. His hands shoved back into his pockets as he sits like he intends to stay.

“Y/n… hey...” He says gently, trying to get your attention. Turning in his chair slightly to face you more, his knee pressing softly into the side of your thigh. He can see your anger, he can feel it too. “I’m not talking to you.” You say without looking at him. “Well I’m talking to you…” He says so softly, one could mistake the tone for sweet nothings. You sigh, closing your laptop with a click, you grab your bag. Ready to just leave and brush him off if he’s not going to take the hint to leave you alone. “No…no.” He says softly and reaches across you, taking your bag, lifting it over and onto his side. So you can’t get to it.

An annoyed huff escapes your lips, crossing your arms and staring straight ahead to avoid him. You’re not good at confrontation. Never had to do something like this before.

His hand comes up to brush your hair back behind your ear. The backs of his fingers brushed across your cheek. And you brush his hand away when he does it. Is he really trying that right now?

“Stop it.” You sigh, pushing his hand away absentmindedly so he opts for resting his arm on the back of your chair. “Come on… let’s talk about this.” He says and you’re starting to fume inside. Now he wants to talk? After you begged him not to leave, begged him to talk to you Sunday night? You look over at him angrily and he keeps his arm around the back of your chair. His broad shoulders give him an advantage. “What do you want?” You glare at him and he sighs. He knew you might be angry but he’s never seen you look at him that way. “Why did you even come here? Just to make things worse?” You frown and keep your arms crossed, closed off from him. “I came here to speak with you.” He says calmly, trying to maintain the control he’s been losing all week. “Well you’re not doing much speaking.” You sigh. A beat of silence follows.

“I want you to come over… tonight…” He says in that soft tone again. In his mind the both of you just need some time and things can go back to normal. “We can cool off and then you can come over and we can just move on from this.” He says and leans back a bit as if that’s that. Everything’s fixed?

“What are you talking about?” You look at him like he’s from another planet. “Can’t we just move on from this?” He asks, patience running even thinner. “This has gone on long enough… I’m tired of it… come over…” He says again and he doesn’t even realize how disappointing this all is to you.

You sigh softly. Feeling let down. He couldn’t even apologize. Couldn’t fix the problem he created. He didn’t come here to explain, or apologize, or to check up on you. The words just start to flow now.

“So you just came here to get your dick wet, is that it?” You say and stare him dead in the eyes. But his expression changes, brow raises in a certain surprise. He wasn't expecting you to say something like that.

“No… I… I wanted to…” He starts but it’s like he can’t find the words. “I just wanted to see you.” He says feeling like he’s teetering on a very dangerous line right now. And silence follows.

Why must he be so confusing? It’s like he’s making it your fault that he has no idea what he wants or how he feels. This week started with you feeling so small and insignificant. You told yourself that he’d never talk to you again after the things he said. That he really regretted being with you. That you were never supposed to happen. Just like he said. But now he’s back and he doesn’t even apologize? He just wants to act like none of it ever happened? Like he didn’t break your heart?

“Why did you ask me to tutor you? That day?” You suddenly ask as it’s something you’ve been wondering and these are the things he’s not good at talking about. He knows all of this started with him acting like a greedy douchebag but he didn’t expect to feel this way towards you. He doesn’t want to tell you the real reason he invited you to his dorm a month ago. The real reason being he wanted a quick easy fuck with someone who seemed eager and innocent. He feels like a fucking jerk. “I don’t know…” He sighs and shakes his head, looking down at the table then back up at you. All your words just seem to come spilling out now.

“Well you knew that I liked you...” You state as if it should be obvious. “What do you mean?” He asks and your brow furrows. Is he serious? “You… you knew that I liked you. When you asked me to tutor you? A month ago??” You ask hopefully, trying to confirm what you hoped to be true. You had thought he knew you had feelings for him all this time. You even hoped those feelings were returned. “N-no I… I mean I assumed maybe you might have. I didn’t really think about it too much” He says a bit nervous about where this is going. His cool control slipping. But everyone likes him so it just makes sense that you would like him too. That’s why you didn’t refuse him. And it’s all getting twisted up in his head. “Didn’t think about it? Like… it wasn’t important to you whether I liked you or not?”

And the silence falls over the both of you right then. “Well then what is this? What have we been doing?” You frown at him, waving your hands in the air a bit because you just can’t understand how you got to this point and he just keeps acting so oblivious. And he’s losing control.

“No. Wait. I didn’t say it right. I-”

“Why did you start doing all this then? If you didn’t even like me in the first place?”

His eyes go wide, not having an answer that wouldn’t make you feel even worse. “I don’t know…” He says again. He doesn’t seem to know a goddamn thing. “Was it just to string me along?! Is this all just a joke to you?! Are you trying to make fun of me or something?” You press for answers, feeling more heartbroken the longer he doesn’t give you a real answer. “No! It’s not! I am not trying to make fun of you!” He exclaims, shaking his head. This isn’t going how he wanted. This is spinning out of his control and he’s on the verge of all this collapsing. If this happened with anyone else he’d just forget it ever happened in the first place. But he couldn’t forget you if he tried. He doesn’t understand that feeling.

“You’ve just admitted you didn’t even like me when you first started this… and after a month of me giving you nothing but sex, you still just ‘don’t know’?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

“That’s exactly what you just said! And apparently I was never even supposed to happen in the first place.” You throw his own words back at him and he scoffs before scrambling to explain himself in a way that won’t make you hate him even more.

“I freaked out… I don’t know why I freaked out. Can’t you just forget it? What I said was stupid I don’t even know what I was thinking…” He insists. “Seems like you were thinking a lot actually. That this was your plan all along. You don’t want a relationship, you just want a fucktoy…” You scoff and stand up from your seat, to which he immediately stands up too. His earlier confidence is crumbling.

“Come on, I was… drunk!” He scrambles to justify his outburst Sunday night.

“You said you weren’t drunk or were you lying about that too?” You move past him to grab your backpack from where he put it trying to keep it from you.

“Can you just come over? Let’s forget about this, this is a waste of time.” He begs and follows you around as you’re collecting your things off the table and shoving them into your backpack.

“I don’t think it’s a waste of time…” You say softly and shove your computer inside. “Yeah, well I do… you have wasted my time!” He raises his voice, trying to get a rise out of you but when he sees your disapproving expression he knows that wasn’t the right move. With one last zip, you’re starting to leave the empty library. And he follows frantically.

“W-Wait! Just wait… w-what do you want me to do? You want me to block Dana’s number? I’ll do it!” He’s speaking fast and frantic, reaching for your hand and holding it to stop you from leaving him.

“I don’t want you to block Dana’s number… I don’t care.” You sigh, completely over all of this. It’s too confusing. He’s a mess you’re not sure you want to be a part of.

“I’ll block her right now… you can watch me do it!

“Oh my god… enough…”

“Please.”

“Enough!!”

“I’ll cut her off… I don’t even want to see her anyway, I hate her…and we didn’t fuck on Sunday if that’s what you think!”

“Dana is not the problem”

“Dana must be the problem.”

“I’m telling you, she’s not!” You yell at him. And he finally shuts up, watching you wide eyed as you keep scolding him.

“Do you even hear yourself? D’you ever think that the problem might just be you? Are you incapable of just apologizing or do you genuinely not believe this is all your fault??! All of your problems just have to be other people’s problems right?!” And he flinches as you yell.

He’s stunned by your words and the volume with which you just scolded him. He knows he deserves it but he just can’t stop himself from arguing. He doesn’t want you to hate him even though he deserves it.

“Well I’m not perfect, okay? I can’t be…I can’t be perfect.” He pleads softly, holding onto your hand like a lifeline. A silent plea for you to not let go of him now.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect!”

His eyes stay wide. Staring at you like you’ve just told him a deep dark secret.

“I’m asking you to stop being a selfish asshole!!”

Your voice doesn’t echo in this place padded with old books and hardwood. It's sturdy and final. And finally it seems like you’re getting through to him. Maybe he’s understanding.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same. Do not tell me I was making it all up in my head. I’m not the one misreading things. You are.” You say. Your voice is softer now. Fragile as you can see he’s thinking about all that you just said.

Tell her you’re sorry, Miguel. He thinks to himself. He knows everything you’ve said is what he needs to hear. He knows he hurt you. What he said was not okay. And now he’s made you upset and angry too.

“You’re right I… about everything…” He mumbles. Sighing and looking down. His fingers slipping away from your hand. Letting it go. Letting you go.

“I… I’m sorry.” He finally says. And you let his apology sit. Allowing yourself time to decide if you’ll accept. If he deserves it. The silence is deafening.

“I-I just…” He sighs deeply. At a loss for words. He just feels so stupid. Rubbing his forehead down to his cheek frustrated. Sighing ashamedly as he tries to think of what to say that could fix this. “You asked me… to tell you what I’m feeling and I-I don’t know…” He says softly. And you stare at him wide eyed as he admits this.

“What is that?” Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts for a moment. Looking back up at you confused. “Your hand.” You say, your eyes locked on his busted hand as he rubs his face. He pulls it behind his back. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy. “It’s nothing I-” He painfully clenches his hand behind his back. The guilt is overwhelming. Please don’t feel bad for me. He thinks to himself. You’ve been far too patient with him.

“Show me.” You demand softly, looking in his eyes. And you’re serious. He sighs softly and brings his hand out, holding it out sheepishly to show you. The hand that’s held you, the hand that’s touched you… it’s cut up and bruised.

“What happened?” You ask sternly with a hardened expression when you finally see the cuts in his knuckles and the bruises. His hand is mangled, swollen, purple and clearly would cause anyone lots of pain. “Don’t lie to me.” You sternly say. And he doesn’t dare lie to you again. “I just… punched my locker.” He looks down ashamed. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. Broken and defeated. It’s not a good feeling, you don’t like seeing him like this. “When did this happen?” You ask firmly and he answers in a sigh. “Sunday.” Shoving his hand back in his pocket. It makes sense that he would have thrown a fit after he stormed out Sunday night. He must have been going about his week with his hand like that and not doing anything about it. “Did you go to the hospital?” He shakes his head at your question. Averting your gaze. “It’s gonna get worse if you don’t.” You insist and he just nods. For fear of his voice breaking if he found any words.

“I’m sorry Y/n… I’ll just go…” He says softly and steps back, and once again it’s like everything inside him is telling him to leave. You stand there. Not wanting to stop him this time. Watching him as he goes.

“You should go to the hospital.” You say soft and serious as he walks past you. Staying still and not attempting to stop him from leaving. You’ve made your point. And he didn’t win. But neither of you won tonight. He nods softly and keeps his head down, walking past you to leave the library. And he’s going to try his hardest not to bother you again. You’re so kind, so patient, so real. And he fucked up the one good thing he had going on. The one thing that made him feel good. Instead of belittling you, he should have acknowledged that he has some messy feelings of his own.

So he leaves. And you’re left standing in the library. You stood up for yourself. You told him off. But why do you feel so empty? Maybe it was seeing him so broken. When it comes to things that are good for him, he seems to forget himself.

He leaves the library silently. Walking down the dim hallways of the building and then outside. It’s raining again. It’s been raining pretty much all week. Pulling his hood up, he walks down the front steps of the academic building. Walking through the rain and not even bothering to run this time. Letting the rain pelt his sweatshirt, soak right through to his skin. He feels so stupid. He feels confused. And he feels sorry. But you deserve better than him.

Getting back to his residence building, he gets in the elevator. Staring at the floor and leaning his head against the wall as it travels up to his floor. He scoffs when the conversation replays in his head. His own words echoing and hearing himself act like such a dick. He didn’t know what other way to approach you other than to try and make things go back to normal. He wants things the way they were.

But he’s realizing the way things were is not fair to you. It’s not like all month the two of you just happened to cross paths. It’s not like you were sleeping with each other because there was no one else. It’s because neither of you can stay away from the other. It’s this messy obsession fueled with fire. He could touch you blind and know the pulse at your throat, the tips of your fingers, the plush of your stomach. He’d know the whispers of your voice, the fan of your breath over his cheek, the taste of your tongue. So then why is he so afraid? If he’s memorized every shimmering stretch mark, every inch of your skin, the sound of your voice, then why does he keep pushing you away?

He wants you to be his… but he wants to be yours just as much.

Miguel sighs as the elevator finally dings and the door opens. He keeps his head down, walking down the hall to his door. Unlocking it and walking inside. His hand hurts like hell. The cuts are just starting to heal but his fingers are still busted and swollen. It’s hard for him to open and close his hand all the way.

His phone rings, vibrating in his pocket as he peels off his wet hoodie and kicks his shoes off. Pulling it out from his pocket, he sees who’s calling. He didn’t expect it to be you. And it’s not. It’s his Father.

His heart sinks further, letting it ring, staring at the caller ID. This is the last thing he needs right now. Sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his vibrating phone in the palm of his hand, his eyes start to sting. Hot tears welling up and brimming in his eyes. When the ringing finally stops he drops his phone on the bed and drops his face into his hand. A shaky sigh trembling in his chest, swollen, hurting fingers clenching painfully on his lap. His arms wrap around himself, leaning over and down into his bed. He’s so tired. And he’s alone again just like always. He doesn’t feel bad for himself, he feels bad about himself. What is it about him that drives everyone away? You just answered that question for him tonight. It’s just him.

...

“It… makes me… feel… steady? Like… like there’s nothing to worry about. Or like… y’know…” He sighed, flipping over to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling as you looked over at him across the pillows. The words felt trapped in his chest but they flowed like a river from his lips. “Like things feel slow...in a good way.”

…

He remembers saying that. He remembers meaning every word. Right now he feels anything but steady. He's collapsed.

His tears dry after a while and he keeps trying to just fall asleep and forget all of this. Even for just a few hours. But he can’t seem to just fall asleep. His head hurts and all he wants is to rest for once after this shitty week. But his running mind won’t let him.

His eyes crack open to check the time, his alarm clock blaring red in the darkness of his room. 2:17am. “Ugh…” He sighs, letting his head fall back onto the covers. He’s been sitting like this for hours now.

Knock knock knock.

He hears the knock on the door, flinching and sitting up slightly on his elbows. Watching the door and wondering if he’s hearing things. But there it is again. Three soft knocks.

“Miguel?” Your soft voice sounds from the other side of the door and he sits up completely. Eyes wide and heart thumping. This is his last chance. He can’t mess it up this time. He immediately gets up and turns on his desk light, running a hand through his hair and going to the door, unlocking the bolt and opening it. He doesn’t care if it seems desperate, he is desperate.

He looks smaller somehow. Or maybe you just feel bigger in some way. He’s staring at you as he stands in the opening of his door. And his immediate instinct is to try whatever he can to make things better.

“Y/n… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t hav-”

“Put your shoes on.” You shush him softly. You didn’t come here for an apology.

“What?” He steps forward, not understanding your request. It’s 2am and you’re both half asleep anyway.

“Put your shoes on please.” You say again. “And a hoodie or something, it’s cold outside.”

His brow furrows in confusion but he’s not going to argue with you right now. You’re here and talking to him so that’s what matters. Using his one good hand, he pulls his sneakers on at the door, grabbing his hoodie off the back of his desk chair. “Where are we going?” He asks and passes through his door to you. He’d go anywhere if it meant he could be with you right now. A soft hopeful expression on his face. “We’re going to the hospital.”

To be continued…

images from pinterest

Taglist: @miguels-cock-piercings @queerponcho @club-danger-zone @bossva @softcrayon

@m4dyy @nommingonfood @bruhhvv

@jessies-unrelagated-thoughts @mauvecherie-writes @haveclayeveryday @kimivixen

@jadeloverxd @chiikasevennn @mvlanchqly @resident-cryptid

@x0tw0d57 @vampyboys @miguelspriscilla

@francesca-the-1st @migueloharacumslut @daisy-artfield @peachey-pie @izakopanyi2

@rinnako @ohara-whore @migueloharasbbm @razertail18 @laysmt

@tojiragdoll @maiyart @wazawazooo @mun-2996 @marshhbs

#artists on tumblr #smut #artists on tiktok #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara smut #miguel #miguelohara #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguelito

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matchingbatbites · 2 years

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For @steveshairychest and based on their post here. I read it and just couldn't resist <3

The thing is, Eddie knows that Steve is straight. Honestly, that's the only reason Eddie is as bold as he is, why he starts flirting with him in the first place. He's got years of repressed feelings towards the younger boy, and now they're friends, good friends, and Eddie feels comfortable letting loose some of that pent up attraction, knowing that Steve won’t shun him for it.

He does start off small, just to be safe, with pet names and terms of endearment like handsome, honey, sweetheart. Just little things that make Steve's mouth quirk in a smile, nothing to make him feel uncomfortable. The longer Eddie goes, though, the bolder he gets.

The first pickup line is a joke. They’ve been talking about some new beach movie that's just been released onto video when Steve mentions his lifeguard certification, and before Eddie can stop himself he says “It's a good thing you're a lifeguard, because I'm drowning in your eyes.”

Steve laughs at that, not mean, just surprised, and is still grinning as he gives a half-hearted “Shut up, Eds,” and turns back to what he was working on.

And, oh, Steve has no idea what he's done, because Eddie is instantly obsessed with the need to make Steve laugh, to pull out that playful side of him that’s so rare to witness. So Eddie pulls out every dumb pickup line in the book, tries his best to make him laugh again.

“Hey, Stevie, your hand looks lonely. Can I hold it for you?”

“Did you just come out of an oven? Because you're too hot to handle.”

“Is your dad a boxer? Because baby, you're a knockout.”

Most of the time Steve just rolls his eyes and grins, but every so often he’ll make that surprised laugh, or god forbid, he’ll giggle, and Eddie mentally crows in victory every time it happens.

The kiss thing is spur of the moment one day, when Eddie has been hanging out just to be around Steve, and causing a little bit of a racket in the store. After a while, Steve playfully shoves at Eddie's shoulder and says "Get out of here before you get me in trouble, man," and Eddie just grins as he leans into Steve's space.

"What? No goodbye kiss before you send me off into the world?"

And oh god, Steve actually blushes this time, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink, and oh fuck, Eddie is such a goner. Steve shakes his head and tries his best to hide a smile as he says "In your dreams, Eddie."

"In my dreams it’ll be, then, handsome," Eddie replies with a grin, giving a mock salute on his way out the door.

It becomes a usual thing, Eddie hanging out and flirting and asking Steve for a kiss before he leaves. Every time, Steve's response is the same, that delightful blush covers his cheeks as he grins and pushes Eddie away with a "Keep dreaming," or a "You wish,” or even a half-assed “Fuck off, Eds.”

It all comes back to bite him in the ass when, for once, Eddie arrives at the video store to pick up Robin, instead of just doing his usual lazing about and bothering Steve.

Walking in, he doesn't see Buckley immediately, but he does spot his favorite person behind the counter and he beelines to Steve. He leans on the counter, elbows on the clean surface and chin in his hands as he bats his eyelashes at Steve.

"Hi Stevie! How's the prettiest boy in Hawkins today?"

Steve looks over at him and Eddie feels like a deer in headlights when the man gives him a sly grin. He leans on the counter, arms crossed as he presses into Eddie’s space.

"I dunno, gorgeous, how are you doing?"

All of Eddie's higher brain function just stops as Steve speaks. It’s such a stupid response, something that anyone else might have said if asked the same question, but for some reason it makes Eddie go dumb, cheeks flooding with color and mouth dropping in shock.

Steve’s grin widens and he tips his head to the side, looking like the cat who got the fucking canary. He reaches up and grabs a curl that had fallen from the messy bun Eddie had thrown his hair into, and twists the lock around his finger as he leans even closer.

"You look so fucking good today. Drives me crazy when you wear your hair up like this, sweetheart. Puts your whole neck on display, all that pretty skin just begging to be bitten and marked up."

And yeah, Eddie's brain must be leaking out of his ears, because it’s him, it’s Eddie, the master wordsmith who always has something to say, and all he can manage to get out in response is a single, stupid sounding "Uh.”

Steve's expression shifts to something more condescending and god, Eddie is so into it when he tugs on the curl again and coos "Aw, got nothin’ to say, baby doll? Can't take what you dish out?"

An embarrassing whine finds its way into the air between them and fuck, Eddie has to go. He needs to leave before he makes an even bigger fool of himself than he already has, because Steve is looking at Eddie like he wants to eat him and his knees feel like jello and where the fuck is Robin??

As though summoned by just a thought, Robin breezes through the shop and throws out a casual “Steve, can you stop? I need him to drive me home and he can’t do that if his brain is mush.”

Eddie glances over as she walks past them, thinks Traitor! as she leaves him at Steve’s mercy and heads outside to his van. He looks back to Steve, at those hazel eyes alight with amusement and tries to get his brain to work.

“I need- uh- Robin-” he stammers, unable to even complete a thought as Steve smirks and leans in even closer, his nose almost brushing against Eddie's when he asks, "Can I get a goodbye kiss?"

And Eddie could never say no to Steve, especially when the other is looking at him like that. He nods dumbly, hoping he doesn't look as desperate as he feels, and there's another tug on that curl.

"I need you to use your big boy words, sweetheart," Steve says, still tinged with condescension, and Jesus fucking Christ, this whole dynamic is really doing it for Eddie, more so than he ever thought it would.

"Yes, Steve- Please-" he says, fully prepared to start begging if he has to, if he can find the words to, but he's given a bit of mercy when Steve closes the gap between them.

It feels like he’s being electrocuted, and that's all he needs for his brain to get with the program, for his hands to finally respond as they fly up and tangle in honey locks as he kisses back.

Steve groans and presses closer, his tongue bullying its way into Eddie's mouth and Eddie can feel his limbs turning into goo as Steve kisses him thoroughly, those old King skills being put to good use as he wrecks Eddie with just this.

A car horn sounds from outside the shop and Steve pulls away, smirking again at Eddie's soft whine of protest. “You better go before Robin pitches a fit.”

Eddie nods, still dumbstruck from the last few minutes and says "I- Yeah, okay. Uh, call me? Tonight?"

Steve hums and stands up straight, and Eddie can feel his brain power returning with the little bit of distance now between them.

“Why don’t you come over after my shift? Say, 9?” Steve asks, giving Eddie that hungry look once again, and Eddie’s breath hitches.

“Yep, yes, I can- I’ll definitely do that,” he answers, taking a few steps back and trying his best not to stumble. “I’ll, uh, see you then, Stevie.”

Steve calls out “See you later, baby doll!” as Eddie scrambles for the door, and oh god, Eddie is fucked.

#the prompt was delicious and I totally ripped a line from it #ily and hope you like it #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #joey writes #i wanted eddie to be very silly goofy 'haha joking around with my best bud...unless👀'#and steve to be very straightforward cutthroat 'i know what i want and im gonna fucking get it'#because i feel like that fits them both well #ficlet

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emprexxluxaic · 7 months

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PICK A CARD: THINGS THAT PEOPLE FIND ATTRACTIVE ABOUT YOU.

⠀ׅ ♡⠀࣪ emprexxluxaic ⸺ your angel ׅ ࣪ 𝅄

note: after a long time, I finally have a courage to do a reading for all of you. I hope your doing great mi amor and please do enjoy this another reading for you 🤍

PILE ONE

first thing is your body figure, through the way you stand. you might be in the taller side for most or whenever you walk it's like reminding them a model in a runaway or just have a nice pair of legs or it is just simply long. it also feel that you have a nice taste in fashion, you may love fashion and different hair colors— a rainbow hair color can be best and find it good for you. ² I see that you take a great amount of effort to look nice and presentable for other people, they like how you look good and as well as how you look neat and clean in your appearance. if you ever have a back tattoo they also love it, they love seeing it cuz it may have a nice design or meaning. I hear that you make tie your hair in ponytail style and people find it attractive specially for woman. some here are good at letting go and cutting of people who causes chaos and heartache in your life, people find it attractive cuz not all has the ability to cut ties in a person who you got attached and have bond too. it could significantly define that you were good at dealing problems or any negative emotions of people giving them such an advice which can bring a huge factor in you towards the other. you could be also a future oriented, you like to keep in track about your plans but doesn't tell most of the people unless you trust them will of your heart. great hands is what I'm hearing, it not you love to write things that need to be done or your just good at calligraphy. in social, I feel you were may often alone but doesn't mean you were lonely, you just enjoy your life alone which other do like and adore in you. you take a pride in being alone is important in you so it brings you to realization of what are your thoughts and are you and all.

extra message: forest, boots, good shape of nails, journals, a cat, orange, near water, beaches, carving, meditating, walking around and alone, enjoying movies.

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PILE TWO

these amazing amount of people love hearing your thoughts and voice, you can be a great singer, has a hobby of singing or just great speaker and advisor for people. for what I am seeing, they find it attractive in your eyelashes — natural or not, probably it suited for you. you were positive and it spread to people which brings light and love, you could be a happy person as well. I don't know why but they love it when you close your eyes or while you fell sleep cuz you look good or cute for them. I feel as well that they find it attractive in way of your sitting — your back is straight or it define elegance and for some you seat in such a boyish way I guess. You have a nice shape of body or they find it attractive how you love your body figure, for most it is a bikini body. you might be someone interested in journal or writing down your thoughts. they find it alluring when you take a pride in your art cuz it likes you make efforts in creating them or it makes them feel awe cuz it was cute or something. they also think that you have a nice hair, how the curl define your own face or how long your hair was. like I said you can be a singer not just that but also a good music taste or you actually create music, you may write poems and actually quite good at it. your soft hearted self bring impact to others, they love how good you are to people.

extra messages: heavenly beauty, flowers, rainbow, heart to heart conversation, able to see what is good and bad in people, hands are pretty, positive in body, flower hair clips, thighs tattoo.

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PILE THREE

They feel attracted to you when you wear things or clothes that has lavender/ purple with it. It suited your skin color or they just love how best you look in that color— they may think that your favorite color is purple. You could have have dark long hair— this could be resonate with for most or you enjoy dying your hair in different shades. I could hear that it feels they find it attractive in how you dance whether it just for fun or something— probably they love it how you make face while dancing in to beats of rhythm. You too as well may have a nice foot or nails, maybe it is well shave or your foot nails are pretty— all in all they just love staring at it. If you ever good at cooking or creating dishes they also find it attractive, like how does it possible you got the chef's hands on you. Big butts as I guess, wearing tight shorts or pants, you got a nice ass I think. If happened your butt aren't that big, they feel attracted about your hips or how your waist probably whatever size you are, you got curves. I feel that you can be a soft spoken , how feminine you are or how you show kindness and gratitude towards people. You may also has a habit of resting your hand in your chest when you do it they feel comfort and you are honest in what are you saying to them.

extra message: mermaid curls, diving or swimming, hands on waist, good at massaging, nice pair of hand, inner beauty.

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mr-inkslinger · 5 months

Text

ARTHUR MORGAN walked into your shared hotel room without knocking because he wasn't used to you tagging along with him. He walked in to see your legs spread, fingers deep inside your aching, dripping cunt your other hand working your clit. He should've walked away. He should've. He was going to as well, until you whimpered his naming as your hips lifted off the bed. You hadn't even noticed him. He should've walked. You were just a pretty young thing. He shouldn't have gotten you tangled up into him and his mess anyways.

He didn't even realize how heavy his breathing had grown, how tight his pants were. Shit.

Now, you were none the wiser to his presence, so caught up in trying to imagine what it would be like to be with him. His fingers were thick, thicker than yours. It was hard to imagine what it'd be like to have him finger you because he'd stretch you out better with two fingers than the three you had inside of you. Even harder to imagine his thumb working your clit with the same hand, given the fact that you needed two to do what he could with a singular hand. Your head tilted back in a low groan, half of it was from pleasure but the other half was from sheer frustration. You'd done your best to signal that you were interested. Bordering on desperate, at this point. You'd tried everything, touching his shoulder, batting your eyelashes, playing dumb. None of it worked. At all. At this point you had figured he just wasn't interested, so you'd have to settle for your imagination.

A floorboard creaked under Arthur's foot as he tried to take a step back. But it gave him away. You jumped and he jumped, even though he was aware of you and you noticing him. He stumbled to face the door, his skin burning with embarrassment from the encounter. He felt shame, severe shame. "I'm sorry, I-I thought you were asleep and then-"

"You crept up on cat's paws, Arthur."

"Like I said, I thought you'd be asleep."

"Well, I ain't."

"Clearly."

There was a pause, as you sat there, naked. Half covered but still, naked all the same. Naked and moaning his name and completely vulnerable because of what he does to you and he won't even look at you. You sighed, heavy, deep, disappointed. He very clearly didn't want you. "I'm sorry, Arthur.. that was.. embarrassing."

"My fault, really.. shouldn't have barged in and sure as hell shouldn't have lingered." Another huff from you. "Why are you huffin' and puffin'?" He asked you, despite facing the door, he was at least talking to you.

"Because.. well, because of you!"

"Me?" He almost turned around to shoot you a look of incredulous disbelief. "The hell did I do?"

"Beside barging in here, disturbing my private life? You didn't do anything and that's the problem!"

Arthur shook his head, trying to figure out what the fuck that even meant. "So, lemme get this straight. You're mad at me for doing something by not doing something?"

"Arthur, turn around." You had asked him gently, if he could just see how desperately you needed him, maybe he'd give you what you wanted. However, Arthur was reluctant, he just glanced over his shoulder at you. There you were, showing yourself to him. Fuck. Soft thighs and smooth stomach, he figured each of your breasts would fit perfect in his hands. He swallowed thickly, trying to get his brain to make some thought or action, something. "Can't you see that I want you- need you. Arthur, I need you." This was it, a last ditch attempt to get him to see that you wanted him this badly.

You leaned back and spread yourself for him, maintaining eye contact with the one that peered at you over his broad shoulder. His breathing grew deeper. You could see the way he broke away from your gaze to follow the dainty hand you were dropping to your cunt. The way you curled your fingers in and how you weakly bucked against your own palm. He turned to look at you, really look at you. He took a step closer, watching your chest heave and how you blushed under his gaze. He could see your struggle. How you whined and writhed and yet you seemed unable to satisfy yourself how you wanted.

Your free hand furiously rubbed at your clit, desperate to come for him, to really show him how bad you wanted him. Your eyes fluttered a few times but never enough to not look at him. You watched him chuckle, adjusting himself in his jeans. The way his hand lingered, you could see the outline of his dick. Bigger than you anticipated and that was saying something.

His hand clutched himself a little tighter as your breath hitched. "Easy now, easy.." His voice soft, deep. He spoke from his chest. His eyes trained on your weeping cunt, the way your fingers dipped in, the way it dripped around them, glistening in the low light of the room. He kept approaching, step by step as you worked yourself up more. "Nice and easy."

He reached out, a large hand gripping your knee, his thumb rubbing circles. His touch was slow and languid, you focused on the rhythm and stroked your clit to match it. He wasn't stupid, he caught onto that quick. "There ya go... just like that." His hand slid higher, testing the water as he leaned over you. Just enough to add pressure to your personal space he'd taken up residency in. His words of encouragement and seeing his hand hadn't stopped palming his cock made it easy for you to notice that you weren't the only one desperate. He leaned down further, sinking to his knees, his face dangerously close between your thighs. The scruffy cheeks in a dangerously close position to where you've wanted for too damn long.

"Arthur.." That earned you a small smirk, a soft chuckle that was broken. He leaned closer to you, his hand gripping your wrist.

"Want some help?" It didn't take much deliberation before you were nodding, pulling your hand away. His replaced yours, the rough pads of his fingers tentatively stroking down over your clit to your entrance. He marveled at how slick you were. "All of this over me?" He grinned, not ever waiting for an answer as he pressed a finger into you. "God damn.." He could feel how tight you were around his finger, your walls trembling for him. He shook his head, setting his hat aside as he curled his finger. "Oh, you're sweet on me alright." He listened to you keen above him, how your hard gripped his bicep.

This was a dream come true for you. He pumped his finger in and out, slowly, working you up to take another one of his digits and as he slipped on in, the stretch was better than you imagined. Poor Arthur, helplessly rutted against the mattress, the friction was enough for now. He leaned forward the rest of the way, stealing a kiss against your clit. Your hips lurched as your hand carded through his hair. Your touch encouraged him to stay close. His tongue was sinfully warm against you, it was overwhelming being stuffed with his hand and being devoured by his mouth. He hummed graciously as his lips wrapped around your clit. He sucked and licked and swirled it, like it was a nice aged whiskey that he was savoring. A taste test. He clearly enjoyed it, the way his eyes were screwed shut and he moaned into your core.

It was building you up, rapidly. You felt hot and you couldn't help the aggressive grip you had on his hair. His brow twitched with a wince as you tugged it again. He groaned into your folds, the vibration and primal experience of it caused you to tremble. Maybe he just made you tremble. Your moans grew and he made no attempt to silence them. He wouldn't let up, it was overstimulating the way he was eating you. The way his fingers curled with precision and made delicious noises from your pussy. The squelch of his digits dragging against your walls only to be pressed back in with enough force that it did feel like he was fucking you. With intention, purpose. He was seeking to bring you to that edge.

You breathing had become irregular, like your brain had shut off and it wasn't even something you could imagine doing. You were so caught up in all of it, you tried to pull his head away. "Stop- Arthur, I'm gunna come." You tried to push his face away, embarrassed at the idea of coming on his face. He shook his head, his tongue continuing to slurp you up, the more he consumed you the wetter you got. You could see he was covered in you from cheek bones to jaw. His fingers bumping against his chin as he dragged them across your walls, mapping you out. Every ridge and flex of muscle.

His insistence was paying off when he felt your pussy constrict on his fingers, he never stilled though. He worked you right through it, his own hips grinding against the mattress. His free hand reached under you, gripping a chunk of the meat of your ass, holding you tight and close to his mouth. He hummed and moaned, sounding like a starved man given a five course meal. You pawed at his face, feeling your own juices drenching your thighs and his wrist.

He pulled away for a moment, flashing you a crooked grin. "You're a good girl, y'know? All pretty and wrecked f'me. I ain't finished with you, though.."

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan imagines #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan smut #c: arthur morgan

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joonsytip · 1 year

Text

The Selfish Dilemma || Jeonghan - Part 1

Pairings: Jeonghan x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: It was love at first sight ever since you laid eyes on Jeonghan. To him, you are the annoying co-worker who keeps asking him out. No one is new to your courting agenda which only pisses off Jeonghan but what happens when you stop, all at once....

Word Count: 6k

Warnings (specific to this part): this part is SFW, pinning, unrequited love, lots of office jargons, profanity, tears, mention of alcohol consumption, aloof Jeonghan, reader is a love sick puppy, second lead Seokmin, wholesome co-workers Wonwoo, Soonyoung, Jihoon and Joshua, wholesome bestfriend Myeongho (lmk if I missed any)

Banner credits to my baby @hoeforhao <3

A/N: To be added to the taglist for the next part please send an ask or comment under this or the announcement post.

Please heart, comment and reblog, it would really help to keep me going <3

[Svt Main Masterlist] [Svt Flick - Fic Masterlist]

Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Epilogue

The cubicles are neat, the marble floors are shining brighter than crystals even after getting padded every now then. The fruity smell of the room refresher is strong enough to go on for days but the continuous clicking of keyboards sound loud enough to give a year worth migraines.

You duly wait by the office entrance, your daily routine, holding a takeaway paper cup which contains Iced Cinnamon Cappuccino.

A familiar car passes by towards the parking and you know that the person you're waiting for is gonna grace you with his presence soon.

Just in cue, that person walks by ignoring you and passes through the security check. You line up behind him, instantly feeling better just by seeing his face.

"How do you always manage to look so gorgeous?", you ask him giddily knowing very well that you won't be getting a response from him.

The security at the check smiles when you direct your requesting gaze at her. She let's you pass by and you're doing large strides in your heels.

"Here..", you are handing him the beverage cup, "Have a great day, Hannie!", you wish him and he doesn't even bat an eyelash as he saunters over to avail the elevator.

You stand there watching him as your lips curl up because your gazes meet for the first time for the day before the elevator door closes.

When you had switched to the current company you're working for two years ago as a Senior Developer you had never thought in your wildest dreams that you'd be turning into a lovesick puppy for the technical analyst of the team you had gotten assigned to.

Yoon Jeonghan got you enchanted the moment you had your eyes on him. You could vividly remember, it was your first day after getting assigned to a project and your manager was introducing you to your teammates.

Everyone seemed nice and greeted you with enthusiasm except one. Yoon Jeonghan was stoic throughout and for you, that heart within your chest thumped vigorously, eyes glued to him while the surroundings seemed to freeze.

Love at first sight was just a funny concept until Jeonghan made you experience it.

You would admit it unabashed that working in corporate world had given you chance to meet a lot of person but no one could ever do justice to suits more then Jeonghan.

Always been a spontaneous person and upon getting a confirmation that he's single your journey of courting him kickstarted.

It's been two years since then.

Everytime you ask him out, Jeonghan rejects you even without sparing a moment of thought.

You are currently working on debugging a piece of code which every other member of your team failed to solve and it ultimately fell into your court.

"I'm gonna run by the canteen, do you need anything?"

You lift your head to see Seokmin hovering over the partition of your desk.

"One strong black coffee, thanks Min.", you quickly say before focusing on the screen again.

You don't see the empathetic smile Seokmin throws at you.

It's almost afternoon and your prying eyes are stuck on the door of the cabin, adjacent to your desk.

Soon Jeonghan comes out of his cabin which prompts you to follow him to have lunch to together.

It's same everyday, Jeonghan not intending to let you sit with him but you do it anyways.

"Did the bug get resolved?", he asks, eyes set on the plate, "I think we have been stuck on this on for long, need to get it resolved asap."

You chew on the salad filling in your mouth to quickly gulp it and answer him, "I got the chance to look at it today. Hopefully, I wouldn't be spending much time on it."

Jeonghan nods making a brief eye contact with you.

So you proceed with the most important part of your daily ritual.

"Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?", you ask.

"No", comes his recorded response.

You smile mischievously, "Why? I thought I should be rewarded for fixing the code?"

Jeonghan scoffs, "You're knocking on the wrong door. Ask your manager to reward you. If he doesn't, go to the HR department and discuss the matter."

"But they're not you, Hannie.", you slip out the nickname on purpose knowing it irks him, "You're the one I want."

Jeonghan blatantly ignores you and when he's done eating, he cleans the corner of his lips with the tissues and then walks out of the canteen grabbing a water bottle.

Even his back profile should have a seperate fandom of its own, you ponder dreamily.

"Snap out of it, you're drooling."

You crane your neck to see that the seat beside you already occupied by Seokmin.

"Another rejection?" he asks and you nod.

The two of you continue to eat silently before Seokmin brings up the topic again, "Join our team Y/N, Wonwoo is moving out."

You give him a pointed look wishing it was as easy as it sounded. When you started working in the team, you worked under Jeonghan and within this span, everyone moved out or transferred except you. To work closer to Jeonghan and out of sentimentality, you stayed.

"It'll be a lot less hectic", Seokmin assures and points at your face, "Your concealor is doing a very bad job at hiding those dark circles."

You gasp and hit his arm, "Atleast Pandas got a competition even though they're cute and I'm just..."

"Beautiful." Seokmin says in a beat, "You are beautiful Y/N and Jeonghan is blind for not appreciating a woman like you."

He says with so much sincerity that you have to cower your gaze away.

"How long until you stop pursuing him?", he asks.

So that I can start courting you, he doesn't say.

"Until he accepts or...", you sing along, "the day I run out of my patience and the rejection finally settles in my bones."

Red might be your favourite colour but currently you're seeing green.

"Who's she, Wonwoo?", you hiss, lamenting on how you have to witness such a sight.

Apparently a woman whom you've never seen before is standing too close to Jeonghan, much to your disliking and the man in the picture seems unbothered with her hogging over and he's smiling.

He's smiling at whatever nonsense she's uttering!

"She's Seonji, my replacement.", Wonwoo speaks calmly, "Since it's my last week, I'll be giving her KTs before my departure."

"You don't care about me or Seokmin, do you?", you say sadly, "How would I function at all without your inputs?"

Wonwoo is another efficient co-worker who works with Seokmin and is a very good friend of yours.

"Not everyone will be a fool to stall their growth because of sentiments Y/N.", he retorts, meaning no malice.

Your throat closes up for a moment but you somehow manage to speak, "We're not having this conversation now, Woo."

"I know this won't go anywhere but there's a limit to everything. How long until you see it's not Jeonghan but someone else who deserves you.", Wonwoo thinks it's time he rats out Seokmin's name because he himself would never.

"What do you mean by someone else?", you counter back confused.

"It's been two years Y/N, people can go through whole lot of loving in this span, don't you think he's behaviour towards you should have been different if he cared even a bit?", Wonwoo is ruthless because he knows he needs to be the one to tell you because no one else would, "Has he ever smiled at you like that?"

"Woo please stop...", your eyes are teary, voice cracking, "You think I don't know that?"

Then you are walking away, wiping your tears. When there's something on your mind you always go to the rooftop to clear your mind out, of course not alone, you always find a lot of others, some shedding tears, some smoking cigarettes or some staring at the abyss.

You don't realise how much time has passed because you don't have your phone with you. Just as you are mentally preparing yourself to indulge into work you hear the call of your name from a very familiar voice.

"Do you think this company is paying you for slacking off?", Jeonghan says nonchalantly as he stands in front of you, "I can't even reach you on your phone."

Your lips curl up instantly, tiredness disappearing from your eyes, "Did you miss me Hannie?"

Jeonghan turns back & walks towards the door. You follow.

"When you're done fixing the bug, bring it to me for review.", he continues, "The clients have scheduled a meeting with us at 7pm. Be there."

"Aye aye captain!", you say from behind, "Can I ask you a question?"

You don't wait for Jeonghan to respond and ask right away, "Do you hate me?"

"Yes.", comes another of his recorded response.

You wonder how many more yes you can take for an answer.

The meeting ends at 10 and you're quickly collecting your belongings and almost parading so that you could avail the last bus since your car is given up for servicing.

You are sure that availing the bus is far fetched so you're taking out your phone to book a cab when you hear honking.

The familiar car stops by the road where you're standing and Jeonghan rolls down the window.

"Get in, I'll drop you.", he's looking at the way ahead and you are instantly getting in the passenger's seat.

"Wanna go to a restaurant for dinner?", you ask robotically, your tone dry. Jeonghan notices and sweeps a glance at you.

You look exhausted and he hopes it's only because of work.

"No", he says, "Put your address on the system's GPS.", as if it's not already instilled in the system.

You do as asked and Jeonghan sees you putting a different address.

"Did you change places?", he asks.

"A friend's address.", you don't explain further and it doesn't resonate well with him.

You thank him when he drops you at the doorsteps and watch him drive away until the car disappears from your sight.

The product deployment is scheduled for next month meaning work's gonna get more hectic than it already is.

You are knocking on the door and upon hearing a 'come in' you enter the cabin.

Jeonghan is seated on the revolving chair, the coat is hung on the headrest meaning that his only white shirt clad body is making you salivate. His head is laid back and you want nothing more than to stroke those luscious locks with your fingers. But for now, you push away your thoughts.

"I have mailed you a scheduler for the new product release.", you inform, "I think it's best if you arrange a meeting for all the teams involved and I'll give them a walkthrough on deployment and checkout procedures."

Jeonghan immediately straightens and checks the calender before scheduling a meeting for the next day.

"Tomorrow, 5 PM.", he stretches his arms out, "Anything else?"

The sight of viens protruding through his arms almost has you choked and you think it's best for your eyes to be up, "Y-Yeah? Oh well, I'll run by the Batch Ops department, do you have anything you want me to relay to them?"

Jeonghan searches for some files and takes out one from the stack and gives it to you, "Give it to Jihoon and tell him to send me the report by EOD."

You nod and ask, "There's this movie I have been meaning to watch, do you wanna go with me?"

"No.", he responds right away and you're already turning to exit the room when Seonji enters.

"Hannie!", she's intentionally loud and emphasizing and you are almost biting your tongue when you hear the nickname you've given him, to be called by her.

Not wanting to breathe in the same room as her, you are just taking a step ahead but you freeze on hearing her next words.

"The restaurant you took me to on Tuesday after work, I recommended it to my friends and they also loved it. Let's visit again sometime!"

You head whips to look at Jeonghan, to find him already staring at you.

It hurts your pride so you walk out of the room.

You're currently in the Batch Ops department, waiting for Jihoon. The said man is always busy, running on his heels and termed as the workaholic assistant supervisor of the department.

"Hey Y/N, did Jeonghan send the file?", you nod handing him the file and remind him to send the report.

"So how's your courting agenda going on?", he always asks and is even amused by the fact that how persistent you are to get Jeonghan when he doesn't show an ounce of interest in you.

You are generally joking with him on this but today you don't throw a banter and Jihoon is quick to understand that you're having a bad day so he doesn't pry further.

And on the way back you meet Seokmin who asks you to accompany him to the designated tent bar you both often go to. You agree instantly.

That night the owners of that tent bar knew how much you hate a woman named Seonji. They already know about your love for Jeonghan, since your alcohol tolerance is terrific, you cry river worth tears for that man everytime you're wasted and they feel pity for Seokmin who has to always clean up after you.

The product release approaches and everyone is pulling late nights or all nighters. Those who working in higher posts have to almost use office as a makeshift home mainly because they are dealing directly with the foreign clients and the time zones differ.

Though you are tired tattered, you make sure a cup of coffee of his preference always awaits him when Jeonghan enters his cabin. You also arrange the files, putting sticky notes in each section so he doesn't have to waste time searching for something. You make sure the cabin smells good and the place is neat. The towels are kept warm in the bathroom attached to the cabin and his favourite fragrance is filling the air inside cabin, so even if he's spending time at office, your efforts makes him think it's home.

When the rest ask how you do this, why do you do this, your answer is simple.

Isn't this what love is, to keep giving and not expecting anything in return.

"I think it's time you move on, Y/N.", your best friend Myeongho says after he shows up at your apartment one day.

Before you could retaliate his arms are up in his defence as he continues, "You know I'm never the type to judge or disregard anything casually. But this has been going on for long and it might hurt you but it's stagnant. You both made no progress. Two years, definitely a very long time and you can appear all happy and unfazed but I know every rejection must be hurting as hell."

You don't need words, the tears those stream down your facr speak volumes. Myeongho's presence is itself soothing and maybe that's why you are not loosing yourself in pits of sorrow for the moment.

What are supposed to do, you're so in love with Jeonghan, you're so used to him, so dedicated to him.

Myeongho pats your back while he's talking to his wife on his phone. You ponder over how Myeongho met her a year ago and now they are happily married with a baby on the way.

No one's story is comparable to other, each having it's own circumstances and pace but as your best friend said yours is totally different.

Unrequited and stagnant.

The product release is a success and now the work load is a lot lesser.

And as expected you're in Jeonghan's cabin.

"Are you free today?", you ask, "Wanna go to dinner? Not as a date, some people from our & Batch Ops team would be present as well."

Jeonghan is unabashed as usual, "I'm busy today."

He isn't explaining himself, it's his way of defining things. He's implying that on other days he's rejecting your advances without a reason and today he's doing it with a reason.

This time your face falls.

"Do you hate me?", you ask.

"Yes, you're annoying."

"Would you miss me if I leave?"

"No, a good riddance."

This time your heart hurts.

You are currently in a restaurant with Seokmin, Jihoon, Chaein and Joshua both working in your team, Soonyoung of Support Team and you've managed to pull Wonwoo in this eat out.

Wonwoo is currently making a disgusted face at Seokmin, who's doing some questionable mimicking of Jihoon, the man being mimicked being totally vested in eating whatever is there on his plate.

"Isn't that Jeonghan?"

Five pair of eyes follows Soonyoung's gaze and lands on Jeonghan.

"Wait that's Yoora with--"

Seokmin is late in slapping his hand over Soonyoung mouth because you have heard the name and it rings in your ear.

Kwon Yoora, Jeonghan's ex-girlfriend. The woman accompanying him tonight.

You have heard a lot about her from your colleagues because she used to work in the company you're working in. Well you're her replacement in terms of the position when you joined in. She worked with and under Jeonghan before you did.

This is the first time you're seeing her.

"I heard they had mutual breakup, seems they're still good friends.", Joshua comments.

Your eyes are glued to the table space where Jeonghan's hand is atop Yoora's. And he's smiling as he says something to her.

He never smiles at you like that.

"You guys continue eating.", Seokmin is already up grabbing his coat, "I'll get our food packed."

When Seokmin leaves, the rest four look at you worried and you feel pity for yourself. How could you not guess, Jeonghan had never lead you on, always being indifferent, constantly rejecting all your approaches for the last two year.

He didn't like you at all, he has been saying it all along but you were to stubborn to admit and accept. But now you do.

For you, it has been always him.

For him, it would be anyone but you.

You are grabbing your belongings, "Tell Seokmin, I'll be waiting by his car."

Then you sprint out. It's only when Wonwoo calls out your name, Jeonghan notices you.

He sees you running towards the exit, only if he didn't know better, he watches as you wipe your tears while do so.

Tonight it's not only you who's suffering from heartbreak, Seokmin's heart breaks yet again seeing those tear stained cheeks, hearing those wrenching sobs. He puts you to bed and sets the food on your table so that in the middle of night when you wake up hungry, you don't have to look around for food. He runs the bath for you, sets the towels and knowing that you'd be having a terrible headache later, he keeps the glass filled with water and the medicines on the nightstand. He does more and all while wiping his own tears.

Because like you, he too knows nothing breaks like a heart.

Next day Jeonghan doesn't see you at the office entrance. You don't greet him when he walks by your desk to his cabin. It's almost afternoon and you haven't walked through the cabin door even once. At lunch you don't sit with him, you're happily chatting away with Chaein while eating.

Jeonghan thinks something is wrong with him. Everytime he hears faint sound of footsteps his eyes perks at the cabin door. He doesn't like the coffee Seonji makes him. He doesn't like it when some random guy sits in front of him at lunch and while his eyes stray at you almost every second, you don't spare him a glance.

It's around 5 in the evening when you knock on his door.

Jeonghan can't describe the sensation his feeling right now, as if he has waiting for this moment lifelong.

You place a file on his table and say, "The Scheduler team wants to know about all the applications which are planned to retire from our system before the next monthly cycle. I have made a list for same, please have a look once and let me know in case of any concerns."

"Okay.", he says and you give him a nod.

"Don't you have anything to say?", he asks and you look at him confused, "No, I think this is the priority task at the moment, I'll let you know if anything else comes up, Jeonghan."

His own name feels foreign to his ears. By the time he's about to say something again, you are already out of his cabin.

This goes on for the whole week and Jeonghan feels he can't function anymore. He makes unnecessary trips within the office premise everytime walking by your desk just in hopes of getting called by you. You never do.

He waits for you at lunch but you're always gone. He never sees you smiling at him again. You never ask him out now. The coffee doesn't help to keep his stress away, the office doesn't feel homier anymore.

Isn't this all he wanted, Jeonghan asks himself. Aren't you the annoying co-worker who was always getting on his nerves?

And he's scared to listen to the answer his heart has to echo.

It's Monday, the first working day of a very new week and Jeonghan still looks at the entrance expectantly just to see you this time. He double takes to make sure he's not hallucinating and a smile tugs on his lips.

His face regains the seriousness as he approaches you and much to his dismay you don't notice him. He clears his throat to have your attention.

"Morning, Jeonghan.", you greet him curtly.

"Morning", he asks, eyes glancing over your hands to see if they have any takeaway coffee cup in them but they are empty, "Aren't you going in?"

"I'm waiting for someone.", comes your dry response.

Ain't that someone me?

"Okay....", he has no reason to linger anymore.

You are exhausted, sleep deprived blame the late night marathons of your favourite shows you've been pulling.

Reason, to keep your mind occupied with something which is not Jeonghan but the ache in your heart never dulls. Even though you have choosen peace with the fact that he'll never be yours, it's so new and difficult for you act indifferent towards him when you have been in love with him for two whole years.

When you're phones notifies you of a text, it has you rubbing your eyes just to make you're seeing it correct. You have got a text from Jeonghan reading-

Please make me coffee, it's a request.

When the Yoon Jeonghan who never texts you, never bothers to type back a response to your greetings or queries other anything related to work sends you a text, you're shocked.

Jeonghan feels like he can finally get the productive cells of body to work when he sees you entering holding a cup of coffee.

"You don't look good.", you say placing the cup on his table, "Are you okay?"

When he doesn't respond, you continue, "If you're not feeling well, please take the day off, I'll notify you of any urgent matters from our team prospective."

Jeonghan thinks it's the only chance he'd get to clear the misunderstandings so he speaks, "Me and Yoora are still good friends, that night at the restaurant she treated me because of a promotion she got at her company."

"Great to know. Good wishes on my behalf.", you are poised when you say, "From next time please refrain from sharing anything other from work related matters. I have no interest in your personal life and I think we are not close at all to be sharing updates on same."

Either he's mishearing or you're possessed, he's sure it's either. This ain't the you he wants. This ain't the you he needs.

Your tone emits grief when you speak further, "I deeply regret for the inconvenience I've caused you for the past years. I'm really sorry. But rest assured I won't be causing any more trouble, I'll out soon."

"What do you mean by that?", he's off his seat and in front of you instantly, "Did something happen?"

"Indeed.", You nod while smiling, "I accepted that you won't go out with me. I also accepted that you hate me. So there's no more pestering you from my side."

Jeonghan never thought his words would come back to him biting in his ass which he's not capable of taking.

"You can't do this...", he's not even sure of the words he's uttering, "Are you giving up on me?"

"Yes, I'm giving you what you wanted by giving up on you."

Jeonghan realises how much that he has gotten used to you. You're like the good parasite that clogs his mind whenever you're around and even if you're not. His mornings used to start with your messages, you used to magnetize yourself on him during the office hours and the last notification he got before sleeping was also from you.

So now he doesn't like the lack of attention from you at all and he'd do anything to have it back. He'd do anything to have you back.

He tries to be in your shoes for the next days. He waits for you at the entrance holding four cups of takeaway coffee cups because he doesn't you what like. Everyone who passes throws him a questioning gaze. Everyone except you. You walk pass by him, unfazed and unbothered.

"Y/N wait!", when you don't stop, he is following you, "I bought these for you and also if you could tell me what you like so that I can buy that."

You give him an incredulous look, "What are trying to do?"

"Just trying to get you morning coffee..."

You scoff and walk away.

When you go for lunch, Jeonghan pops up out of nowhere and not only he's tailing you, he's even occupying the seat beside you. He's suddenly texting you good mornings and good nights and throughout the day something or other but there's no progress.

Roles reversed, you don't even bat an eyelash at him now.

It makes him realise how ass of a person he has been to you and how angel of a human you were to tolerate all this and still love him with your all.

"What's wrong with Jeonghan nowadays?", Joshua asks genuinely curious. You all are gathered for a coffee break, as he stands opposite to where Jeonghan is stood from accross the room, he constantly notices him throwing glances, "He keeps looking at you Y/N."

"Jeonghan is that thick brain who realises what he had and lost when it's too late.", Jihoon snorts as he takes a sip casually, "What the hell, who put sugar in my coffee?"

Joshua is suddenly walking away and you laugh which makes Jihoon aware of the culprit.

Next he's chasing Joshua.

You are still smiling, gaze lingering on those two when you notice Jeonghan approaching you from the periphery of your vision. Not wanting to waste any energy on him you think of leaving the hall when someone bumps into you.

It's Seonji.

"Heard you stopped chasing Jeonghan?", she taunts, "Good that your brain's finally working."

"I want to you know if this concerns you anyway and why?", you ask and quickly turn to check if Jeonghan is in hearing vicinity. He is.

"I thought it's obvious? That we're close and might be together soon.", she says confidently, "You've noticed how behaves towards you is completely opposite of how his behaviour is towards me."

"Congratulations", you pat on her arm and incline closer to her as you whisper in her ear , "Let's see if Jeonghan is aware of this as well?"

Seonji's freezes for a moment when she realises that Jeonghan has been present there all along and have listened to the conversation that just happened.

"Congratulations to you too Jeonghan.", you wish him, "I can see, a match made of likes."

"There's nothing going on between us Y/N", he pleads as his hands itches to grab you so that you don't slip away before he finishes but out of professionalism and respect he doesn't, "She's just a junior from my university."

'You don't have to explain, I'm not interested.", you tell him before walking out.

Jeonghan is furious and Seonji thinks his glare is enough to make her evaporate without any trace.

"Jo Seonji", his voice is dangerously low and threatening, "I was being nice to you just because we're acquaintances from before but I realised how wrong it was."

"Han--"

"It's Jeonghan for you. If I hear you uttering such nonsense one more time, I'll report you to the committee for harassing me.", he's practically glowering, "And I want the database for all the transactions that occurred between us and our oldest clients with the analysis document by EOD."

"But that's too much of data Jeonghan, how would I be able to--"

"That's for you to sort out.", he says, "If I don't get the design model, I'll report it to your manager and she'll handle it from there."

Seonji is all sweaty and faltering when she hears, "I see you anywhere near Y/N without any official need, I'll make sure you're stepping down your position."

To those who thought Jeonghan has changed, they just witnessed the infamous scary Yoon Jeonghan again today.

They also realised that Jeonghan is still the same authoritative, strict and stoic faced coordinator for all.

He has changed, just for you.

"When are you gonna tell her?", Soonyoung asks wrapping his arm around Seokmin's shoulder as they gather on the rooftop during the lunch break.

Seokmin is torn.

"She's coping up with the pent ups because of Jeonghan and I don't wanna add to her stress.", he laments.

"I hate to admit that you're correct but I'm worried because I think if you don't shot your shoot now then it'll be gone.", Soonyoung's concern is evident in his tone.

"I can't just tell Y/N that I love her all of a sudden when she's in love with someone else for a long time.", it pains him to speak it out, "Because I know how painful unrequited love can be..."

Soonyoung sighs, as he frames his next question carefully, "When will be the right time, Seokmin?

There's never a right time, he thinks.

Jeonghan doesn't avail the elevator, he's climbing down the stairs hurriedly.

When he decided to go the rooftop to cool off after the Seonji episode he again unintendedly overhears the conversation between Soonyoung and Seokmin, the two men obviously staying oblivious about his presence.

His anger from before morphs into a mix of shock and scare. Shock because it didn't occur to him ever that Seokmin could be in love with you. Scared because, well he is yet to figure out the reason.

Walking through the hoistway door leads his chance encounter with Mr. Choi, your manager.

"Jeonghan", he calls him, "I have been meaning to meet you."

"Anything urgent Mr. Choi?"

Mr. Choi smiles, "It might be, for your concern. Y/N has requested for transfer, she wants to move out the team."

Jeonghan stiffens, all the strength in his body dwindles.

Carefully studying his face, his unfocused eyes and a lack of response urges Mr. Choi to speak further, "Since you're her immediate senior and she has been working under you for these years, your say would matter because I know no one would want to loose an efficient member like her. If the team has enough effort excluding her then I'd approve her request "

"Thanks for letting me know Mr. Choi. Please put it aside for now, I'll talk to her and get to back to you.", Jeonghan requests and the older man obliges.

You are currently working on reconciliation of a piece of code with all your concentration when there's a knock on your desk. You look up to find Jeonghan who's mutters a serious 'in my cabin now' when your gazes meet before walking into the said room.

You think of everything and anything you could have done to cause any trouble but nothing comes up, so you are immediately off your seat and entering the cabin.

Jeonghan has never felt this exhausted in his entire life, never because of you. When you used to clinge to him it had became a normality, though he never admited it was the only fun and good part of the office hours. You made him feel the belongingness, when everyone was scared of him, you were brave enough to step up and court him.

And now when he sees the indifference in you towards him, learns about Seokmin's feelings for you, he's beyond frustrated.

Another mistake, he channels it in a wrong way and at a wrong time.

"Jeonghan?"

Your call of his name breaks his reverie.

He looks you dead in yours eyes and asks, "You requested a tranfer?"

You knew your manager would be informing Jeonghan and the only obstacle in that request to get approved would be him, the reason you wanted the transfer in first place.

Before you could assert an answer Jeonghan scowls, "Are you really going to bring your personal life to your workspace? Suddenly one day you decide you'll stop liking me or whatever and then you're requesting to be assigned to a different project? Is that what you call professionalism Y/N?"

You are rendered speechless. You don't let those tears pooling in your eyes fall even though you are hurt.

"I thought two years is long enough to know someone", you inhale sharply, "But you don't know me at all. I wasted two years of my life for the guy who just now disregarded my love for him by calling it liking or whatever."

Jeonghan bites his tongue hard when he traces back on the words he had uttered.

"When I had asked you that if it would matter to you if I leave, you had casually slipped out a good riddance. So I'm doing us a favour and you should be happy but you're not.", you are hot in anger and rage, as your gaze tows upon the man infront of you, "You're not happy because no one's buying you coffee, no one's keeping you company, you don't have your files organised, you don't have anyone to take shit from you without retorting. Have you been always this selfish?"

It's his turn to be speechless. He has seemingly fueled every occurance for the past years to work against him currently.

"This is professionalism Yoon Jeonghan.", you tell him, "Me not stalling my growth anymore and letting in space for productivity and skills showcasing for myself is my professionalism. I stayed because of you but I won't do that anymore."

"I'm sorry, please let me clarify things", Jeonghan is eyeing you alarmingly as he walks towards you.

You hold out your arm and his feet instantly roots to the ground.

"Thanks for assuring me that I've made the right decision. You aren't worthy of my love, you never were. I'll stop loving you one day and I'll make sure that day comes soon."

A tear falls down your cheek and then they are streaming altogether. You fail to choke the sobs and Jeonghan says nothing, knowing that the only way he can help you is by keeping his silence.

And when you sprint out of the cabin, he wants nothing but to stop you and engulf you in his embrace. Although he's physically frozen but his mind deducts several conclusions.

He senses by hurting you, he hurts himself tenfold.

He laments on the fact that office is just all work and nothing to look forward to anymore because he misses you.

He likes his personal space invaded only if it's by you.

Maybe it's late but he's sure that his heart is constricting in pain within his chest because it's broken.

This time he's choking a sob, legs giving up as he falls to the ground when he finally accepts that he got his heartbroken even before he realised that he's in love.

That he's in love with you.

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